S  P I  N  S  T  E, 
FARJVI 


SPINSTER  FARM 


PEGGY  AT 
SPINSTER  FARM 

By  HELEN  M.  WINSLOW 

Author  of  "  Literary  Boston  of  To-day,"  "  The  Woman  of 
To-morrow,"  etc. 


Lover  of  book*  as  I  am,  I  would  barter  them  all 
Just  for  a  day  with  the  book  of  the  fields  and  the/era, 
Pine-ways  and  mountain-pool,  hill  views  and  far-away  glens, 

Farm-path  and  gray  pasture-wall. 


Illustrated  from  Photographs  by 

MARY   G.  HUNTSMAN 


GROSSET     &     DUNLAP 
PUBLISHERS     <**     NEW   YORK 


Copyright,  1905,  1906,  by 
THE  BUTTERICK  PUBLISHING  Co.,  LTD. 


Copyright,  1908 
BY  L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 


All  rights  reserved 


COLONIAL  PRESS 

Rltctrotyptd  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  Simonds  *•  Co. 
Boston,  U.S.A. 


c. 


2229225 


THE  first  edition  of  "  Peggy  at  Spinster  Farm  " 
was  published  under  the  title  selected  for  the 
manuscript,  "  Spinster  Farm,"  but,  shortly 
after  the  book  appeared,  the  friends,  both  of 
the  author  and  of  the  publishers,  pointed  out 
that  "  Peggy  at  Spinster  Farm  "  was  the  more 
appropriate  title,  since,  after  all,  it  is  around 
Peggy  and  her  love  affair  that  the  book  centres. 

Accordingly,  but  few  copies  of  the  first 
printing  had  been  issued  before  it  was  decided 
to  change  the  title,  and  the  greater  portion  of 
the  first  edition  appeared  with  the  present 
title,  "  Peggy  at  Spinster  Farm." 

In  the  second  printing  the  new  title  is  adhered 
to,  but  it  is  deemed  advisable  to  explain  the 
somewhat  unusual  action  of  changing  the  title 
of  a  story  after  publication. 

Oct.  7, 1908. 

vii 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PACK 

THE  PROLOGUE i 

I.  FINDING  THE  PLACE         ....  7 

II.  GETTING  SETTLED 22 

III.  BUYING  A  HORSE 35 

IV.  THE  NEIGHBOURHOOD      ....  55 
V.  PEGGY'S  AFFAIRS 70 

VI.  MAKING  OVER  THE  HOUSE      ...  82 

VII.  THE  SERVANT  QUESTION         ...  92 

VIII.  PEGGY'S  AFFAIRS  AGAIN.        .        .        .  106 

IX.  THE  GARDEN 114 

X.  A  BRIEF  FOR  THE  HEN  .        .        .        .123 

XI.  THE  SPINSTER  TO  THE  PROFESSOR        .  144 

XII.  THE  SPINSTER'S  CATS      .        .        .        .159 

XIII.  AGAIN  PEGGY'S  AFFAIRS          .        .        .  186 

XIV.  HAVING  COMPANY 189 

XV.  AN  ADVENTURE  OF  PEGGY'S  .        .        .  202 

XVI.  AMUSEMENTS 207 

XVII.  THE  CONSEQUENCES  TO  PEGGY       .        .  222 

XVIII.  WINTER  AT  SPINSTER  FARM   .        .        .  225 

XIX.  THE  SPINSTER   TO  THE  PROFESSOR         .  243 

XX.  PEGGY  TO  ROBERT 253 

XXI.  A  WEDDING  AND  SOME  CONCLUSIONS    .  259 

EPILOGUE 267 


SPINSTER  FARM 

THE   PROLOGUE 

"  THEN  I  may  not  even  hope?  "  asked  the 
Professor. 

"  No,  "  answered  the  Spinster.  "  You  see 
we  are  rather  past  the  stage  when  marriage 
is  the  one  essential.  We  have  arrived  at  the 
age  where  a  novelist  would  describe  us  as 
'  no  longer  young.'  We  are  settled  in  our 
habits,  which  is  another  term  for  just  a  bit 
selfish;  we  could  not  possibly  be  so  absorbed 
in  one  another  as  to  forget  our  own  little  idiosyn- 
crasies. Doubtless  we  could  change,  —  but 
we  should  be  very  unhappy  doing  it.  For  in- 
stance, I  always  wear  six  hairpins  and  stick 
them  in  in  exactly  the  same  order ;  you  probably 


2  SPINSTER   FARM 

would  die  before  you  would  wear  one  sock 
wrong  side  out.  Not  that  we  should  want  to 
ask  of  each  other  the  sacrifice  of  these  particular 
habits,  but  I  use  them  just  as  an  example,  to 
impress  upon  you  the  difficulty  of  altering  our 
settled  habits  in  little  things,  —  and  there 
are  hundreds  of  little  ways  in  which  we  might 
try  one  another's  patience  up  to  the  breaking- 
point.  You  are  fond  of  heavy  breakfasts; 
I,  of  a  roll  and  a  cup  of  strong  coffee.  Do 
you  think  you  love  me  enough  to  give  up  your 
hearty  meal  at  seven  A.M.?  Because  I  confess 
that  I  could  not  yield  the  point  and  instead  of 
coming  down  at  eight  to  my  simple  repast, 
meet  you  at  seven  and  eat  steak." 

"  You're  talking  nonsense  now,"  answered 
the  Professor.  "  Happiness  does  not  depend 
on  when  we  eat  our  breakfasts,  much  less 
on  the  number  of  hairpins  you  wear.  And  if 
we  are  getting  settled  in  such  trivial  habits 
and  are  becoming  slaves  to  such  petty  rounds 


THE    PROLOGUE  3 

of  living,  why,  my  point  is  proved.  We  need 
to  marry  and  to  live  for  somebody  and  some- 
thing else." 

"  Not  I,"  insisted  the  Spinster.  "  I  have 
lived  for  other  people  until  I  am  worn  out  with 
it.  The  only  thing  I  ask  of  other  folk  is  that 
they  keep  away  and  give  me  a  chance  to  find 
myself  again.  I  want  to  get  away  into  the  deep, 
deep  woods  somewhere  and  close  to  the  heart 
of  things.  It  seems  to  me  I  could  find  a  saner 
and  a  more  enjoyable  way  of  living  than  the 
one  we  practise  here  in  the  city.  I  think 
people  ought  to  live  alone  a  part  of  every  year. 
In  order  that  they  may  seek  and  find  not  them- 
selves, but  the  storm-centre,  so  to  speak,  of 
their  own  natures.  If  I  could  get  away  from 
everything  here  and  get  out  under  the  wide 
sky  and  the  guarding  stars,  I  could  get  over  this 
sense  of  strain  and  onrush  that  is  killing  us 
women." 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  to  take  you  anywhere 


4  SPINSTER   FARM 

you  want  to  go ;  we  could  go  up  into  the  Adiron- 
dacks  or  'way  down  into  Maine  and  stay  there 
for  months,"  urged  the  Professor. 

"  Thanks."  The  Spinster's  tone  was  not 
encouraging.  "  I  said  alone.  I  am  sure  I  have 
lived  beyond  the  age  where  one  gives  up  all 
her  own  individuality  —  " 

"  I  should  hope  so,"  interrupted  the  Professor. 

"  And  so  have  you,"  she  went  on,  ignoring 
the  implied  compliment.  "  You  would,  after 
the  first,  find  a  woman  very  much  in  the  way. 
You  have  come  and  gone  and  worked  or  played 
according  to  your  own  sweet  will  for  so  long 
that  the  role  of  devoted  husband  would  drive 
you  to  —  well,  distraction  of  some  sort,  some 
other  woman,  no  doubt;  and  I  shouldn't 
like  that;  nor  put  up  with  it  half  as  well  as 
a  younger  and  more  ignorant  woman  would." 

"  Let  me  repeat,  you  are  talking  nonsense," 
answered  the  Professor.  "  As  we  grow  older, 
the  need  of  a  home  gets  more  insistent  with 


THE   PROLOGUE  5 

every  normal  human  being.  A  man  does  not 
want  to  sink  into  a  selfish  crab;  he  must  have 
an  incentive ;  he  wants  something  to  work  for, 
to  live  for,  —  yes,  somebody  to  love  and  to 
love  him.  That's  why  I  want  you." 

The  Spinster  looked  up  at  him  keenly.  If 
he  had  said  more,  she  would  have  yielded ;  but 
he  paused  a  moment  too  quick.  He  just  stood 
looking  at  her,  waiting  for  her  answer. 

"  I'm  afraid  it  wouldn't  be  wise,"  she  said, 
after  a  little  time,  —  her  old  impulses  getting 
control  again.  "  You  see,  it  isn't  as  if  I  had 
never  cared,"  she  went  on  softly.  "  There 
doesn't  seem  to  me  any  substitute  for  one's 
first  love." 

"  Then  there  is  some  one  else?  "  asked  the 
Professor  in  a  different  tone. 

"  There  was  somebody,  "  said  the  Spinster. 
"  But  — " 

"  But  —  ?  "  he  insisted. 

"  I  haven't  seen  him  for  years,"  said  the 


6  SPINSTER   FARM 

Spinster.  "  Still,  he  may  come  back;  and, 
well,  —  you  wouldn't  want  a  woman  who 
could  still  feel  that  if  that  other  man  wanted 
her,  she  would  be  willing  to  crawl  to  him  on  her 
hands  and  knees,  would  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  wouldn't,"  replied  the  Professor. 
"  But  you  are  not  that  kind  of  a  woman;  you 
only  think  you  are." 

"  As  if  you  knew !  "  she  retorted. 


CHAPTER  I 

FINDING  THE  PLACE 

"  POOR  thing !  Her  long  illness  must  have  un- 
settled her  mind,"  was  the  verdict  of  the  Spin- 
ster's friends  when  they  heard  of  it.  "  Still 
she  always  was  a  little  queer,  was  Janet  Flem- 
ing." 

For  so  are  we  wedded  to  the  flesh-pots  of 
Citydom  that  when  one  of  us  women  withdraws 
voluntarily  from  the  human  maelstrom  and 
goes  out  under  the  wide  sky  into  the  fields  and 
orchards  and  woods,  where  calmness  and 
strength  and  sanity  of  living  combine  to  make 
life  grow  young  again,  that  one  is  looked  upon 
pityingly  and  called  "  crazy  "  or,  at  the  least, 
"  queer."  The  Spinster  had  dreamed  for 


8  SPINSTER   FARM 

years  of  an  old-fashioned,  roomy  house  some- 
where among  the  hills  that  was  to  be  hers;  a 
place  with  great  trees  around  it  and  wide 
spaces  and  glimpses  of  hills,  with  sunshine 
and  simple,  delightful  living.  With  her,  as 
with  most  women  in  towns,  life  had  become 
too  complicated. 

She  had  belonged  to  clubs  by  the  dozen ;  she 
had  appeared  before  legislative  bodies  and  on 
the  platform  in  women's  conventions;  she 
had  served  on  the  school  committee  and  the 
prison  commission;  and  withal  she  had  kept 
in  the  social  swing,  appearing  at  all  the  teas 
and  receptions,  private  and  public,  which  a 
woman  of  manifold  interests  is  expected  to 
attend.  And,  finally,  she  had  "  broken  down," 
that  deplorable  condition  which  threatens  every 
over-active  woman  of  to-day.  Many  a  sleepless 
night  had  she  passed,  shutting  her  heart  to  the 
street  noises  below  and  picturing  to  herself  the 
grand  old  trees  that  should  wave  their  branches 


FINDING   THE   PLACE  9 

against  the  starlit  sky  for  her;  many  a  wake- 
ful dawn  had  she  comforted  her  soul  with 
visions  of  sunlit  horizons  and  the  trilling  of 
birds  on  her  farm-to-be. 

Every  Spring  for  years  the  Spinster's  thoughts 
had  strayed  from  desks  and  typewriters,  from 
secretaries  and  committee  meetings,  out  to 
where  she  knew  Mayflowers  must  be  gleaming 
from  under  budding  shrubbery  and  anemones 
beginning  to  show  their  wind-blown  faces 
along  the  bare  hillsides.  In  the  Autumns, 
she  had  crossed  the  parks  picturing  to  herself, 
under  the  bare  trees,  the  gushing,  sparkling 
streams  which  must  be  somewhere  plashing 
cold  against  the  rocks  and  alder-bushes  and 
slipping  noiselessly  under  the  fading  bracken, 
and  had  wondered  vaguely  whether  the  squirrels 
and  crows  were  gone  into  Winter  quarters  — 
even  while  she  planned  the  busy  activities  of 
the  coming  Winter.  But  it  was  Peggy  who 
finally  made  the  start. 


10  SPINSTER   FARM 

"  Come,"  she  had  burst  forth  one  morning, 
in  despair  over  her  aunt's  white  face  and  listless 
attitude.  "I  am  tired  of  the  city;  you  are 
worn  out  with  it.  Let's  find  some  place  in  the 
country  and  go  hide  ourselves." 

"  Oh,"  groaned  the  Spinster,  "  how  I'd 
like  to  !  But  we  can't." 

"  And  why  ?  "  demanded  Peggy,  nose  in  the  air. 

"  Why,  there's  your  career,  for  one  thing," 
began  the  Spinster.  "  And  I  have  so  many 
things  to  do,  if  I  ever  get  well  enough.  But, 
oh,  dear,  how  I'd  love  to  go." 

"  You  are  not  going  to  do  things  any  more 
for  a  long  time,  Auntie,  not  if  I've  anything 
to  say.  And  as  for  my  career  —  well,  just 
now  '  the  aim  and  ambition  of  my  life,'  as  old 
Deacon  Barker  says,  is  to  be  a  hen-woman." 

"  A  what?  "  and  the  Spinster  nearly  sat  up 
straight. 

"  A  hen-woman.  Keep  hens,  you  know," 
returned  Peggy  calmly.  "  It  may  not  be  as 


FINDING   THE   PLACE  11 

aesthetic  an  occupation  as  Art,  but  I  imagine 
it  is  more  profitable,  at  least  to  the  beginner  — 
and  saner,"  she  added  with  a  twinkle  of  her 
blue  eye.  "  Think  of  me  up  at  six  in  the  morn- 
ing, feeding-dish  in  hand,  surrounded  by  my 
feathered  flock." 

Peggy  was  a  wise  young  woman,  and  she 
met  the  doctor  in  the  hall  that  morning.  In 
consequence  of  which  he  remarked  to  the 
Spinster,  before  leaving  the  house : 

"  You  will  have  to  get  away  from  the  city 
for  awhile.  Go  somewhere  and  don't  come 
back  for  two  years.  Here  you've  lived,  stived 
up  in  this  flat  for  years,  with  no  real  exercise, 
no  genuine  home  life,  nothing  but  a  rush  of 
exhaustive  activities,  enough  to  wear  out  the 

•    •» 

nerves  of  a  Hebe.  Now,  give  it  all  up.  Go 
off  somewhere  into  God's  own  country  and 
live  naturally,  healthfully  and  happily.  It'll 
add  twenty  years  to  your  life,  I'll  not  answer 
for  you  if  you  don't  take  my  advice." 


12  SPINSTER   FARM 

"  I'm  going  to  see  a  real  estate  man  this  very 
day,"  Peggy  announced  a  little  later.  And 
she  was  as  good  as  her  word  —  seeing  real  estate 
agents,  in  fact,  every  day  for  two  weeks  —  and 
going  off  into  many  and  various  places,  only 
to  return  at  nightfall  disgusted,  footsore  and 
weary 

"  I  believe  Ananias  had  his  early  training 
in  a  real  estate  office,  writing  advertisements 
of  lonely,  unsalable,  horrid  farms,"  she  burst 
out  one  night  at  dinner.  u  And  where  his 
glowing  diction  failed,  Sapphira  was  called 
in  to  put  the  finishing  touches.  Where  do  you 
think  I've  been  to-day?  This  morning  I  went 
to  the  last  office  on  my  list  —  I've  been  to 
every  one  mentioned  in  the  directory.  I  climbed 
up  the  winding  stairway,  where  sat  the  plump, 
gray-whiskered  old  spider  awaiting  the  silly 
fly—" 

"  Which  walked  in  as  innocently  as  ever  a 
fly  could." 


FINDING   THE   PLACE  13 

"  Of  course,  or  I  wouldn't  be  telling  you  this, 
'  Just  exactly  what  you  want,  miss,'  he  said. 
1  A  fine  old  house  of  eleven  rooms,  well  set 
back  from  the  road,  fine  shade  trees,  good 
water,  everything  heart  could  wish,  and  located 
next  door  to  the  historic  old  Wayside  Inn.' 
I  do  think  I've  learned  a  little  wisdom  in  the 
past  two  weeks,  but  this  sounded  so  very  attract- 
ive, I  just  wanted  to  see  it.  So  I  took  the 
next  train  for  Wayside.  Well !  I  won't  attempt 
to  describe  my  mile-and-a-half  walk  through 
the  desokte  sands  before  I  found  that  '  gem,' 
nor  try  to  do  justice  to  the  story-and-a-half 
dilapidated  cottage,  originally  painted  a  hideous 
shade  of  lilac  and  faded  by  many  Summers' 
suns ;  and  I  won't  tell  you  much  about  the  well 
of  '  good  water '  several  rods  away  from  the 
house  under  a  broken  pump,  or  the  lonesome, 
damp  old  lane  that  leads  from  the  house  to  the 
unfrequented  road.  And  it  was  all  huddled 
off  into  a  swamp,  where  I  wouldn't  dare  stay 


14  SPINSTER   FARM 

overnight  —  ugh !  And  now  I'm  done  with  real 
estate  hunting.  I  see  my  feathered  flock  only 
as  a  vanishing-point  in  the  distance  of  a  mirage. 
But  still  we  must  go  into  the  country.  The 
doctor  said  so."  And  Peggy  gazed  pensively 
into  the  salad-bowl, 

"  We  can't,"  groaned  the  Spinster,  half- 
heartedly, for  she,  too,  had  been  building 
castles  in  the  air  while  Peggy  was  farm-hunt- 
ing. "  I  am  too  weak  to  have  the  moving  on 
my  hands,  and  you  — well,  you  have  had  enough 
of  it  already.  Robert  Graves  was  here  this 
afternoon." 

"What  did  he  want?"  and  Peggy  looked 
very  innocent. 

"  He  said  he  came  to  see  how  I  was  getting 
on,"  returned  the  Spinster.  "  Of  course,  I 
have  no  reason  to  doubt  his  word.  He  inquired 
for  you  just  as  he  was  going  away  —  or, 
that  is,  just  before  he  said  he  really  must 
go-", 


FINDING   THE   PLACE  15 

"  And  you  told  him  ?  "  asked  Peggy  carelessly. 

"  Of  your  plans  for  the  country,"  was  the 
exasperatingly  calm  reply.  "  All  about  your 
ideas  of  hens  and  a  dog  and  a  pony.  I  think 
I  was  nearly  as  eloquent  as  you  can  be." 

"  And  he  said  ?  "  with  even  more  studied 
carelessness. 

"  '  Oh,'  he  cried,  '  what  a  pity.  With  all 
her  fine  talent  and  all.  But  you  will  prevent 
her  from  carrying  out  such  a  crazy  notion, 
won't  you,  Miss  Fleming?  ' 

"  Well,  I  like  his  independence,"  and  Peggy 
flushed  up  to  the  roots  of  her  pretty  hair. 
"  Prevent  me,  indeed !  And  my  fine  talent 
forsooth!  Why,  he  was  criticizing  my  work 
frightfully  only  last  week."  And  she  rose 
to  steady  her  aunt's  footsteps  into  the  li- 
brary. 

Ten  minutes  later  she  waved  the  evening 
paper  in  the  air,  and  burst  forth  again : 

"  Eureka  !  Listen  to  this : 


16  SPINSTER   FARM 

"  *  FOR  SALE  —  Historic  old  homestead: 
colonial  mansion  of  13  rooms  with  25  acres  of 
land,  fine  orchard,  grand  old  trees.  Been  in  one 
family  for  150  years.  Just  the  thing  for  a 
gentleman's  place  — ' 

"  or  old  maid's  either,"  interpolated  Peggy  — 
"  or  for  an  up-to-date  hen  farm. 

"  Why,  Auntie,  here's  Providence  just  throw- 
ing at  us  the  very  thing  we  are  sighing  for." 
And  she  went  over  to  the  desk  to  write  to  the 
advertiser  —  a  Mr.  Francis,  who  dwelt  in 
Elysium,  forty  miles  away  from  the  "  madding 
crowd." 

In  a  day  or  two  the  answer  came,  setting  forth 
the  beauties  of  the  place  in  no  uncertain  way, 
and  moving  Peggy  once  more  to  hie  herself 
away  into  the  Promised  Land.  At  night  she 
came  home  in  a  glow  of  enthusiasm,  and  two 
days  later  the  Spinster  herself  set  forth,  for 
at  last  they  had  found  the  right  place. 


FINDING   THE   PLACE  17 

The  house,  which  originally  had  been  built 
and  inhabited  by  a  Tory,  was  confiscated  by 
the  Federals  at  the  beginning  of  the  Revolu- 
tionary War,  as  the  two  were  told  before  they 
reached  the  centre  of  Elysium,  where  it  was 
located.  As  the  two  women  approached  it, 
the  March  sun  was  at  his  best,  and  the  old, 
square  yellow  farmhouse  wore  an  atmosphere 
of  such  enticing  peace  that  the  Spinster's  heart 
went  forth  to  it,  even  before  she  entered  the 
quaint,  old-time  front  door. 

She  passed  joyfully  through  the  little  "  entry," 
with  its  queer,  winding  stairway,  out  into 
big,  low-ceilinged  square  rooms  and  on  into 
the  long,  low  kitchen  with  its  west  windows, 
its  old  brick  oven  and  closed-up  fireplace, 
which  had  cooked  many  a  dinner  for  the  de- 
fenders of  the  Georges.  She  noted  with  sat- 
isfaction the  big,  airy  chambers,  each  bedroom 
having  a  fireplace  of  its  own;  she  went  out 
to  the  great,  century-old  barn  and  stopped 


18  SPINSTER   FARM 

to  visit  the  other  outbuildings,  and  then  she 
said: 

"  I  will  take  it  It's  exactly  the  place  I've 
had  in  mind  for  twenty  years."  Whereupon 
Peggy  proceeded  to  execute  a  dainty  little  dance, 
beyond  the  vision  of  Mr.  Francis. 

The  "  mansion,"  as  it  used  to  be  called, 
stands  on  an  eastern  slope,  facing  the  sunrise 
and  commanding  a  sweep  of  fifteen  miles  of 
lovely,  wooded  country  and  picturesque  hill 
and  dale.  To  the  westward,  beyond  the  fine 
old  orchard,  stretches  a  mountain  landscape 
some  twenty  miles  until  it  recedes  in  a  back- 
ground of  rounded  peaks.  The  house  had 
many  peculiarities  to  distinguish  it  from  the 
modern  "  villa  "  and  to  delight  the  romantic 
Peggy,  There  was  but  one  door-knob  on  the 
place,  and  that  on  a  door  leading  from  the 
stable  into  the  great  barn  —  evidently  put  there 
to  supply  some  late  necessity.  The  old  latches 
were  in  great  variety.  All  the  hinges  were 


FINDING   THE   PLACE  19 

made  by  hand  in  years  long  gone  by,  and  hand- 
wrought  nails  abounded  through  the  house, 
put  in  long  before  the  invention  of  machine- 
made  ones.  The  outside  clapboards  were 
graduated  to  a  thin  edge  at  the  ends  and  over- 
lapped like  shingles,  being  fastened  with  round- 
headed,  hand-made  nails  four  inches  in  length. 
The  great  oaken  beams,  both  in  house  and 
barn,  were  secured  by  wooden  pins.  There 
were  fine  old  flagstones  around  the  doors  and 
a  rose  garden,  all  atangle,  and  dear,  old- 
fashioned  "  grass  roses  "  all  along  the  roadside 
opposite. 

They  moved  out  in  time  to  watch  the  unfolding 
of  the  Spring.  Bluebirds  were  already  singing 
and  robins  calling  from  the  tall  elm  beside 
the  house.  Frogs  made  the  twilight  musical 
with  their  plaintive  note,  and  the  peach-orchard 
was  a  mass  of  pink  blossoms.  They  had  time 
to  get  settled  before  the  great  apple-orchard 
bloomed  into  full  glory,  and  they  caught  the 


20  SPINSTER   FARM 

outputting  of  lilac  and  syringa  bushes,  of 
hepaticas  and  anemones  and  acres  of  blue 
violets.  And  then  they  began  to  get  acquainted 
with  their  new  home.  There  was  the  walnut 
pasture,  with  its  grove  of  shagbark  giants, 
its  spring,  its  King  apple  and  Roxbury  russet 
trees,  its  carpet  of  wintergreen  and  checker- 
berry  vine.  They  took  stock  of  their  currant- 
bushes,  their  rows  of  blackberries,  their  grapes 
and  cherries,  early  and  late,  and  daily  thanked 
the  fates  that  had  guided  them.  Best  of  all 
were  the  great  wind-swept  spaces,  the  refresh- 
ing silences  of  nature,  the  constant  song  of 
Spring  birds  —  the  oriole,  the  blackbird,  the 
flicker,  the  wren,  the  meadow-lark,  the  bobo- 
link. 

As  the  Summer  advanced  they  came  to  know 
better  the  cedar-bird,  the  little  goldfinches  and 
the  bluejays,  the  oven-bird's  hurried  call  at 
sunset,  the  swift  down-rush  of  the  nighthawk, 
the  intimacy  of  the  chimney-swift,  the  occa- 


FINDING   THE   PLACE  21 

sional  pheasant  and  the  companionship  of 
"  Bob  White."  And  there  was  to  sweeten 
existence  for  the  Spinster  in  her  convalescence 
the  great,  soft  silence  of  the  night,  the  gentle 
breaking  of  the  dawn,  the  splendid  morning 
star,  the  glowing  sunrise  and  the  gorgeous  dis- 
play in  the  west  as  the  great  luminary  sank 
again  behind  the  mountains  at  twilight. 

"  Strange,"  said  her  friends,  "  that  Janet 
Fleming  should  have  taken  that  place  on  im- 
pulse, the  very  first  time  that  she  saw  it.  She's 
the  last  person  in  the  world  we  would  have 
expected  to  go  into  voluntary  exile." 

But  it  was  not  an  impulse.  The  Spinster 
merely  recognized  her  own  when  she  came  to 
it  —  a  thing  so  easy  in  the  missing. 


CHAPTER  II 

GETTING   SETTLED 

JUST  to  be  out-of-doors  was  enough  for  the 
Spinster  when  she  was  first  liberated  from 
the  thraldom  of  "  engagements."  She  felt 
as  the  squirrel  must,  which  has  been  confined 
in  a  cage  with  a  revolving  wheel,  when  by 
some  chance  he  slips  away  from  his  captors 
and  finds  himself  in  the  woods  leaping  from 
tree-top  to  tree-top.  Cherries  were  ripe  early 
in  June  and  furnished  a  harvest  that  attracted 
the  birds  in  great  flocks,  making  the  air  jocund 
with  song  the  whole,  livelong  day,  for  their 
feathered  friends  soon  found  that  there  were 
no  nets  spread  to  catch  their  unwary  feet, 

and  as  they  took  only  the  cherries  that  grew 

22 


GETTING   SETTLED  23 

on  the  tops  of  the  trees  or  tips  of  branches, 
the  Spinster  lost  nothing  by  her  hospitable 
mood.  Such  twittering  and  calling  and  chatter- 
ing  and  scolding  as  went  on  from  morning 
till  night.  Flocks  of  cedar-birds  (or  "  cherry- 
birds  "),  their  little  green  caps  awry,  would 
descend  suddenly  and  skirmish  for  supplies; 
bluebirds  dashed  overhead  like  flashes  from 
the  June  sky  and  the  tuneful  orioles  became 
the  Spinster's  good  chums,  alighting  on  the 
tree  -  -  while  Peggy  was  mounted  on  the  step- 
ladder  below  it  —  all  discussing  the  size  and 
flavour  of  the  fruit  as  intimately  as  possible. 

"  The  birds  in  Elysium  are  evidently  of  the 
opinion  that  the  Golden  Age  has  returned," 
said  the  Spinster  one  day.  "  I'm  told  the 
neighbours  all  around  us  feed  whole  flocks  in 
Winter.  And  it's  a  plan  that  works  both  ways, 
for  Summer  cannot  seem  so  far  away  with 
flocks  of  birds  chattering  in  the  orchards  or 
hopping  across  the  lawns  in  snow-time." 


24  SPINSTER   FARM 

"  Do  you  know  there  are  golden  pheasants 
all  about  here  ?  "  put  in  Peggy.  "  Hiram  told 
me  this  morning  that  a  hunting  club  bought 
and  let  loose  a  few  of  these  beautiful  birds 
some  years  ago,  right  in  our  pasture.  Then 
the  club  went  to  pieces,  and  a  law  for  the 
protection  of  the  birds  was  passed  by  the  Legis- 
lature, and  —  well,  we  have  pheasants.  Think 
of  owning  a  place  with  pheasants ! "  And 
the  young  woman  ran  over  to  embrace  her 
aunt  in  congratulation.  "  And  Hiram  says 
he  fed  a  flock  of  nine  of  them  all  last  Winter, 
and  that  by  and  by  we  shall  find  ourselves 
starting  them  up  from  cover  in  our  daily  walks 
quite  often.  He  says,  too,  nobody  in  Elysium 
carries  a  gun,  and  even  the  wily  fox  goes  free." 

"  You  may  not  be  so  enthusiastic  over  that 
when  your  hens  get  to  raising  young  chickens," 
the  Spinster  replied;  for  no  sooner  were  they 
fairly  settled  in  their  new  home  than  Peggy  had 
announced  that  she  wanted  to  buy  some  hens. 


GETTING   SETTLED  25 

"  Now,  Peggy,"  her  aunt  had  protested. 
"You  really  don't  want  to  keep  hens?  They 
are  a  lot  of  trouble,  and  the  least  interesting 
animate  objects  that  you  can  select." 

But  Peggy's  heart  was  set  on  having  a  poultry 
plant. 

"  You  ought  to  read  the  farm  journals  and 
poultry  books,"  she  said.  "  Why,  people 
are  making  loads  of  money  keeping  hens. 
Besides,  I  like  hens.  They  know  a  lot.  I  read 
only  yesterday,"  she  urged,  "  that  one  woman 
cleared  from  one  hundred  and  seven  hens  a 
profit  of  $532.78;  and  there  was  a  girl  who 
bought  three  hens,  with  her  own  allowance, 
and  raised  forty-seven  chickens  the  first  year. 
In  three  years  her  flock  had  increased  to  seven 
hundred  hens,  What  do  you  think  of  that?  " 

"  I  think  the  age  of  romance  is  not  ended 
yet,"  was  her  aunt's  retort,  "  but  if  you  want 
me  to  go  '  hen-hunting '  with  you  this  after- 
noon, we'll  borrow  Hiram's  horse." 


26  SPINSTER   FARM 

Hiram  was  the  neighbour  who  had  been 
engaged  as  man  of  all  work  at  Spinster  Farm. 
A  queer  character  he  was  —  a  farmer  who 
had  always  lived  in  Elysium.  He  owned  a 
small  place  just  back  of  Spinster  Farm  and 
lived  quietly  with  a  wife  whose  end  of  the 
buggy  seat  settled  far  below  his  when  they 
drove  to  the  village  every  Sunday,  The  Spinster 
took  great  delight  in  exercising  his  conversational 
powers,  which  were  indeed  remarkable,  and 
his  quaint  ways  of  putting  things  soon  convinced 
her  that  originality  of  mind  is  by  no  means 
the  result  of  education. 

"  Kind  o'  wore  out,  be  ye?  "  he  had  asked 
the  very  first  day.  "  Wai,  some  women  never 
know  how  to  take  things  easy.  I  tell  my  wife, 
when  she  tries  to  hurry  things  by  tellin'  me  to 
make  hay  when  the  sun  shines,  thet  there  ain't 
no  call  to  try  to  make  it  so  tarnal  fast  thet  ye 
git  sunstruck  in  the  process.  I  reckon  you're 
one  o'  them  kind."  And  she  felt  that  he 


GETTING   SETTLED  27 

had    the    power    of    character-reading    to    a 
science. 

When  they  went  over  to  engage  the  horse, 
they  found  him  at  the  grindstone,  which  he 
had  rigged  up  to  run  by  foot-power. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  you  c'n  hev  the  hoss,  tho' 
I  was  sort  o'  caPatin'  to  cultivate  them  beans 
this  afternoon  with  him.  Soon's  I  git  this 
knife  ground  down  I'll  hitch  up  for  ye.  I 
sometimes  wonder  why  'tis  if  it  takes  a  hundred- 
an'-fifty-pound  grindstone  to  put  an  edge  on 
a  two-ounce  knife,  that  sometimes  a  little  word 
that  don't  weigh  nothin'  '11  put  an  edge  on  a 
hundred-an'-eighty-pound  woman,"  which  led 
the  Spinster  to  believe  that  domestic  infelicity 
was  not  unknown  in  Hiram's  family.  "  After 
hens,  did  ye  say?  Why,  I've  got  some  hens  I'd 
sell  ye  —  Barred  Plymouth  Rocks,  too ;  ain't 
no  better.  How  many  d'ye  want  ?" 

"How  many  have  you?"  asked  Peggy 
with  true  Yankee  shrewdness.  "  How  many 


28  SPINSTER   FARM 

can  I  keep  over  there?  And  how  much  do 
you  want  for  them?  " 

"  Let  ye  have  twenty- five  or  so,  and  cheap, 
too,"  was  the  answer.  "  Ain't  no  need  of  your 
chasm'  all  over  town  after  hens.  An'  you  can't 
keep  no  more,  'less  ye  build  a  new  hen- 
house." 

So  Peggy,  finding  the  hens  to  her  liking, 
invested  thirteen  dollars  in  hens  and  gave  up 
her  "  hen-hunt,"  taking  a  long  walk  instead, 
with  the  Spinster  for  company.  For  with  re- 
turning health,  the  woman  who  had  depended 
on  cabs  and  trolley-cars  for  years  was  beginning 
to  find  out  the  real  pleasure  as  well  as  the 
beneficial  effects  of  a  brisk  walk.  Across  the 
pasture  they  went  down  into  the  woodsy  corner 
where  grew  the  young  wintergreens  and  where 
the  Indian-pipe  tried  to  hide  under  the  low 
bushes  of  cornel  and  huckleberry.  Then  after 
resting  on  the  moss-grown  stumps  of  walnut- 
trees  they  went  on  until  they  climbed  Benjamin 


GETTING   SETTLED  29 

Hill,  which  commanded  a  magnificent  view 
for  miles  all  around  them. 

"  Is  there  anything  more  inspiring,"  asked 
Peggy,  "  than  a  mountainous  view  from  one 
of  our  New  England  hilltops?  " 

"  Doubtless  a  Westerner  would  say  yes, 
and  quote  the  Rockies  to  us,"  returned  her 
aunt.  "  But  this  is  good  enough  for  me.  And 
how  it  does  seem  to  drive  the  crankiness  all 
out  of  one  to  stand  here  and  let  the  good  west 
wind  blow  across  one's  face  and  take  deep 
breaths  of  this  June-sweet  air.  Peggy,  what 
slaves  we  are  to  old  *  They,'  anyway." 

"  We  are  like  playing  '  Simon  says  thumbs 
up,'  "  answered  Peggy.  "  If  the  milliner  says 
'  hats  up,'  we  strain  every  nerve  to  wear  'em 
up ;  if  she  says  '  hats  down,'  we  just  tumble 
over  ourselves  to  get  them  down  again.  I  don't 
believe  we  need  half  the  things  we  think  we 
do,  Auntie." 

"  I'm  convinced  of  it,  and  we  only  think  we 


30  SPINSTER   FARM 

do  because  we  see  other  women  having  them. 
Life  is  a  struggle,  both  for  rich  and  poor ;  but 
it  is  hardest  of  all  on  the  masses  of  women 
who  live  just  above  want  and  yet  are  without 
the  means  of  gratifying  half  their  wants.  The 
average  woman  longs  for  things  only  because 
other  women  have  them.  She  would  be  quite 
content  with  the  estate  wherein  Providence 
had  placed  her  if  He  had  not  seen  fit  to  place 
others  on  a  different  footing.  We  do  not  need 
half  the  clothes,  the  tables,  the  chairs,  the 
draperies,  the  hundreds  of  useless  objects 
we  so  diligently  acquire ;  we  only  think  we  do. 
And  we  think  so  because  we  see  other  people 
owning  them.  To  keep  up  appearances  and 
make  people  think  they  are  better  off  than  they 
are,  half  the  world  is  living  in  mortgaged 
houses  and  wearing  clothes  that  are  not  paid 
for.  And  from  the  snare  of  small  debts  many 
a  man  seeks  to  escape  by  speculation  or  pecu- 
lation —  with  ruin  at  the  end," 


GETTING    SETTLED  31 

"  Half  the  fun  of  living  out  here,"  said  Peggy 
when  her  aunt  stopped  for  breath,  "  is  the  free- 
dom to  dress  comfortably  and  sensibly.  I  hate 
the  thought  of  going  back  to  town  and  wearing 
tight,  uncomfortable  corsets  again.  As  for 
evening  dress  —  I  say,  Auntie,  you  should  have 
seen  Julia  yesterday  when  I  took  out  that  gray 
Paris  gown  of  yours  and  shook  it  to  refold  it 
again.  Her  eyes  opened  wide  with  astonishment. 
She  supposed  you  hadn't  anything  more  than 
the  linen  and  denim  gowns  you've  been  wearing." 

"  Strange  how  one's  point  of  view  changes 
with  one's  environment,"  resumed  the  Spinster, 
musingly.  "  When  I  go  into  the  city,  to-day, 
I  see  everywhere  the  man  with  the  muck-rake, 
his  eyes  ever  on  the  ground,  insensible  to  the 
world  of  beauty  around  him.  People  hurry  on 
with  eager,  strained  faces,  wildly  pursuing 
the  unattainable;  or,  if  it  proves  to  be  attain- 
able, to  what  end?  The  best  countenances 
have  a  weary,  unrested  look;  the  worst  are 


32  SPINSTER   FARM 

worse  than  I  ever  realized  before.  So  much 
of  the  real  essence  of  life  is  lost  to  these  hurried 
and  breathless  ones.  I  thank  God  for  the  priv- 
ilege of  living  where  I  may  look  up  to  the  stars 
and  listen  with  quiet  heart  for  the  music  of  the 
spheres.  After  a  day  of  noise,  of  struggling 
with  pushing,  jostling  crowds  in  the  city,  the 
old,  low-ceilinged  living-room,  with  its  cheerful 
wood  fire  in  the  ancient  fireplace,  its  comfortable 
old  chairs,  its  books  and  its  home  atmosphere, 
seems  to  me  the  most  refreshing  spot  on  earth. 

"  I  recall  the  long  days  I  used  to  spend  in 
ill-ventilated  lecture  halls  and  committee 
rooms  only  to  be  followed  by  a  hurried  meal 
and  a  rush  for  club  meetings  or  theatres; 
never  a  quiet  home  evening  with  books  and 
wood  fires,  always  a  mad  rush  for  somewhere. 
And  I  thank  my  stars  again  for  this.  God's 
great  outdoors  is  free.  So  far  no  trust  or 
monopoly  has  it  under  control. 

"  As  I  sit  in  my    chimney-corner  o'  nights 


GETTING   SETTLED  33 

(in  the  very  chair  I  was  rocked  in  as  a  baby) 
watching  the  firelight  glow  across  the  book- 
cases and  gleaming  through  the  small-paned 
windows  to  cheer  the  infrequent  passer-by, 
I  say  to  myself :  *  When  cheeriness  and  leisure 
and  comfort  and  quiet  happiness  can  be  found 
so  easily,  why  do  so  many  restless,  unsatisfied 
women  stay  in  towns?  For  this  way  lies  peace.'  " 

"  You  say  it  to  me,  Auntie,  every  night  of 
your  life,"  laughed  Peggy.  "  And  now,  after 
that  preachment,  I  dare  you  to  catch  me  before 
I  get  to  that  tree  at  the  foot  of  the  hill."  But 
the  Spinster  did  not  accept  the  challenge, 
knowing  there  was  but  one  way  for  her  to  keep 
up  with  the  fleet-footed  Peggy  — and  that  by 
the  undignified  method  of  rolling  down  hill. 

AYhen  Peggy  reached  home,  some  moments 
before  the  Spinster,  she  drew  up  suddenly, 
with  a  flush  of  lovely  colour  flooding  her  fare 
and  neck  and  rounded  chin.  There  on  the 
door-step,  waiting,  sat  Robert  Graves. 


34  SPINSTER    FARM 

"You?"  said  Peggy.  "When  and  how 
did  you  come?  And  why  didn't  you  let  me 
meet  you  at  the  station?  " 

"  You  haven't  said  you  are  glad  to  see  me, 
Peggy,  yet,"  said  the  young  man,  "  Say  it." 

The  girl  laughed  and  glanced  up  at  him. 
"  You  take  it  for  granted.  That's  enough," 
she  said.  "  Come  back  and  meet  Auntie  with 
me.  She'll  be  surprised." 

"  And  she  won't  hesitate  to  say  she  is  glad," 
retorted  he. 

"  Whether  she  is  or  not,"  persisted  Peggy. 
"  For  such  is  the  way  of  society  folk,  and  we 
can't  shed  city  habits  all  in  a  minute." 

"  You  seem  to  be  getting  on  with  the  attempt," 
said  Robert,  and  then  they  came  up  with  the 
Spinster,  walking  slowly  and  looking  at  them. 
She  was  thinking  how  little  it  takes  to  make 
young  people  happy,  and  how  easily  things 
go  wrong. 


CHAPTER  III 

BUYING  A  HORSE 

"  SHALL  we  or  shall  we  not  buy  a  horse  ?  " 
soon  became  the  burning  question  at  Spinster 
Farm.  Hiram,  like  many  another  man  of  all 
work,  possessed  the  faculty  of  being  somewhere 
else  when  he  was  most  wanted,  and  conse- 
quently it  began  to  appear  that  the  more  animals 
they  had  the  more  they  would  have  to  care  for 
themselves  in  emergencies.  True,  they  could 
borrow  Hiram's  ancient  and  respectable  beast, 
but  being  what  that  worthy  called  "  slow-gaited  " 
and  somewhat  uncertain  in  temper,  they  soon 
found  that  a  rather  unsatisfactory  method  of 
seeing  the  country.  Hiram,  accustomed  to  his 
evolutions,  paid  little  heed  to  them,  never  stop- 

86 


36  SPINSTER   FARM 

ping  even  to  straighten  him  out  when  he  had 
kicked  over  the  traces,  secure  in  the  knowledge 
that  if  let  alone  Old  Tom  would  get  himself 
right  again;  but  the  Spinster  found  it  difficult 
to  be  complacent  under  those  conditions. 

"  I  never  mind  nothin'  about  him  when  he 
cuts  up  his  capers,"  said  Hiram  one  day  when 
they  had  reached  home  with  one  thill  under  the 
old  horse.  "  If  he'd  ruther  travel  that  way,  I 
let  him.  When  he  gits  sick  on't  he'll  git  his  legs 
where  they  belong."  But  that  philosophy  was 
scarcely  adapted  to  the  Spinster's  needs.  The 
climax  was  reached  one  day  when  she  and  Peggy 
rode  away  over  the  hills  into  a  neighbouring 
town  early  in  June. 

.  "  One  mean  trick  he  hain't  got,"  Hiram  stated 
as  he  brought  him  to  the  door.  "  He  won't 
start  up  an'  back  with  ye.  Fact  is,  he  won't 
git  scared  at  anything.  So's't  ye  needn't  be 
afraid  anywhere  with  him."  But  six  miles 
away  Old  Tom  took  it  into  his  equine  men- 


BUYING   A   HORSE  37 

tality  to  see  what  he  could  do.  As  they  were 
climbing  a  long  hill  they  saw  ahead  of  them 
two  men,  and  a  barrel  mounted  on  a  farm 
wagon.  From  this  barrel  a  hose  was  playing, 
sending  jets  of  some  disinfectant  across  the 
adjacent  apple-trees.  This  fearful  sight  was 
too  much  for  the  ancient  Thomas.  He  did  not 
run.  Oh,  no !  He  backed.  In  spite  of  all  the 
Spinster  could  do,  he  persisted  in  backing.  The 
whites  of  his  eyes  rolled  dangerously,  and  his 
great  mouth  yawned  like  a  cavern.  Peggy 
screamed,  while  the  Spinster  held  on  with  a 
death-like  grip.  She  had  already  broken  the 
whip  on  his  callous  flanks,  and  the  situation 
seemed  appalling.  Destruction,  if  not  immediate 
death,  seemed  imminent  when  one  of  the  men 
came  running  over  and,  seizing  Old  Tom  by 
the  bit,  led  him  by  the  dreadful  object  which 
had  so  disturbed  him.  This  episode  closed 
their  connections  with  Hiram's  outfit. 
About  a  week  after  this  event,  as  they  were 


38  SPINSTER   FARM 

sitting  by  the  fire  one  dark,  rainy  night,  the 
Spinster  was  called  by  her  maid.  "  A  man 
wants  to  see  you  at  the  back  door,"  she  said. 
"  I  told  him  you  didn't  like  to  be  disturbed,  but 
he  said  he'd  got  to  see  you  personally,  ma'am." 

"  Mercy  me !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  hope  it 
isn't  a  tramp." 

"  Oh,  my !  "  put  in  Peggy,  with  a  thrill  in 
her  voice,  "  what  an  adventure."  And  she 
followed  her  aunt  to  the  back  door,  both  of 
them  cautiously  peering  out  into  the  rain. 
They  could  see  no  one,  but  a  voice  soon  made 
itself  heard. 

"  I  hear  you  want  to  buy  a  horse,  ma'am. 
I've  got  jest  the  right  one  here  for  you,  ma'am. 
Belongs  to  a  friend  of  mine,  and  I  tho't  you 
ought  to  see  him  right  away." 

"  I  don't  want  to  buy,"  began  the  Spinster, 
but  the  voice  flowed  on :  "  She's  all  right, 
every  way.  Sound's  a  nut  and  kind  in  harness 
and  won't  run  away,  and  even  a  child  can 


BUYING   A   HORSE  39 

handle  her.  You  could  drive  her  forty  miles 
without  stopping  if  you  want.  She's  a  pretty 
good  looker  tho'  you  can't  see  her  very  well 
in  this  light.  Thought  I'd  bring  her  right  over." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  buy." 

"  My  cousin  bought  her  this  morning  over 
Pleasantville  way,  but  she's  a  little  too  heavy 
a  boss  for  him.  He'll  sell  her  for  only  forty 
dollars.  A  perfect  horse  in  every  way.  Ain't 
got  no  tricks." 

"  I  say,"  and  the  Spinster  raised  her  voice 
again,  "  /  don't  want  a  horse  of  any  kind" 

But  the  fluent  seller  was  persistent.  "  It 
isn't  often  you'll  pick  up  a  bargain  like  this. 
If  you  want  a  hoss  any  time  this  Summer  this 
is  the  hoss  you  want." 

"  I  don't  want  a  horse,"  fairly  shrieked  the 
Spinster,  while  Peggy  from  behind  cried,  "  No, 
no,  no !  we  don't  want  the  horse." 

"It's  a  good  hoss,  ma'am,  and  only — " 
but  the  Spinster  shut  the  door,  leaving  him  there 


40  SPINSTER   FARM 

in  the  darkness  with  the  rain  beating  against 
him  and  his  forty-dollar  animal. 

Early  next  morning  a  knock  was  heard  at 
the  west  do^i  and  the  Spinster  heard  herself 
asked  for.  There  was  the  same  man,  seated 
in  a  light  cart,  behind  the  sorriest  little  specimen 
of  horse-flesh  she  had  ever  seen. 

"  You  didn't  buy  that  hoss  last  night,  did 
ye?  No;  wal,  dunno's  I  blame  ye,"  he  began. 
"  It  wan't  jest  what  you  wanted,  but  here's 
one  I  got  in  trade  over  to  Wilson's  Corner, 
that  you  want.  Light,  good  puller,  sound,  all 
right,  only  a  little  thin  from  poor  keepin'. 
Come  out  and  see  her.  Only  fifteen  dollars 
for  this  one." 

"  No,"  the  Spinster  said  coldly,  "  I  am  not 
ready  to  buy  a  horse." 

"  You  won't  get  another  such  chance,"  he 
urged.  "  Safe  as  a  cat.  Children  can  handle 
her.  No  backin'  or  runnin'  away  with  her." 

"  Indeed !  "  and  the  Spinster  began  to  grow 


BUYING   A   HORSE  41 

indignant.  "  I  should  say  not.  The  poor 
animal  hasn't  life  enough  left  to  do  any  of  those 
things.  She  couldn't  stand  up  now  if  she  weren't 
strapped  to  the  thills.  Why,  if  you  were  in  the 
city  you  would  be  in  danger  of  arrest  for  having 
the  poor  old  thing  in  harness  at  all.  And  you 
ought  to  be,  too." 

Arrest  was  a  word  that  the  man  did  not  enjoy. 
Possibly  it  called  up  sad  reminiscences,  for  he 
urged  the  poor,  staggering  nag  on  without 
another  word.  When  Hiram  came  from  the 
post-office,  he  brought  the  information  that 
the  horse,  which  had  been  stolen  the  day  before, 
had  dropped  dead  half-way  to  the  village. 

That  was  only  the  beginning  of  the  visits 
she  had  from  men  with  horses  of  every  kind 
and  all  prices.  Although  she  had  never  once 
said  to  anybody  that  she  intended  or  desired  to 
buy  a  horse,  every  one  with  a  horse  to  sell  within 
a  radius  of  ten  miles  made  Spinster  Farm 
the  object  of  his  devotion  for  weeks.  Old  horses 


42  SPINSTER   FARM 

and  young,  fat  horses  and  thin,  gray  horses 
and  black,  bay  horses  and  roan,  gentle  and 
fierce,  horses  with  and  without  tails,  shaven 
and  unshaven,  gay  and  dejected,  horses  of 
every  conceivable  description  were  brought 
to  her  door,  until  life  became  almost  a  burden. 
And  finally,  in  self-defence,  the  Spinster  did 
buy,  without  advice  from  any  one  except  the 
irrepressible  Hiram.  An  elderly  woman  drove 
up  one  afternoon  and  said  that  she  was  about 
to  move  away,  and  would  sell  her  old  family 
horse,  harness  and  carriage  for  fifty  dollars  in  cash. 

"  You  can't  get  cheated,"  said  Hiram,  who 
happened  to  be  close  by.  "  I've  known  that 
horse  fifteen  years.  He  was  an  old  horse  then, 
but  he'll  last  quite  awhile  longer.  And  the 
carriage  is  wuth  all  she  asks  for  the  outfit." 

So,  worn  out  by  the  attentions  of  horse- 
traders,  she  told  him  to  put  Rosinante  in  the 
barn,  while  she  went  in  to  draw  her  check. 
Peggy  drove  the  animal  out  that  night. 


BUYING   A   HORSE  43 

"  He's  all  right,"  she  announced  when  she 
returned,  rosy  and  smiling  with  exercise.  "  He 
has  only  one  defect,  and  that  is  an  impediment 
of  speed.  But  he'll  do  until  I  can  get  a  pony 
with  my  egg-money." 

"  He'll  die  of  old  age  before  that,"  returned 
the  Spinster.  But  old  Rosinante  carried  them 
patiently  for  many  a  pleasant  mile  before  he 
finally  laid  himself  peacefully  down  and  yielded 
up  the  ghost;  and  so  familiar  did  the  inhab- 
itants of  Elysium  become  with  the  spectacle 
of  the  Spinster  urging  him  gently  to  greater 
endeavour  that,  for  the  next  year  or  two,  when- 
ever an  old,  superannuated  beast  was  spoken 
of  somebody  would  say,  "  Now  that's  just  the 
horse  for  that  old  maid  over  to  Spinster  Farm." 

But  there  came  a  time  when  matters  were 
evened  up.  Just  after  the  death  of  Rosinante 
a  letter  came  from  one  of  the  Spinster's  friends. 
"  We  are  going  to  travel  for  a  year,  and  Mr. 
Wilton  is  going  to  reduce  the  stables.  You 


44  SPINSTER   FARM 

know  Ladybird  is  my  own  horse  and  a  fine  one 
in  every  respect.  Are  you  willing  to  take  her 
and  give  her  a  good  home  as  long  as  she  lives, 
promising  never  to  let  her  be  sold?  "  To  which 
the  Spinster  promptly  and  gladly  assented. 
And  when  Ladybird  came  there  were  no  in- 
vidious remarks  about  the  old  maid's  horse 
except  the  occasional  bet  that  she  "  would  get 
run  away  with  and  smashed  to  flinders." 

"  Why  do  not  more  people  dispose  of  their 
horses  in  that  way?  "  she  said  one  day.  "  I 
mean  rich  ones,  of  course.  There  is  nothing 
more  pitiful  than  to  see  a  faithful  old  family 
horse  that  has  been  petted  and  cared  for  through 
all  his  useful  life  turned  over  to  the  mercy, 
or  Mw-mercy,  rather,  of  strangers  whose  one 
object  is  to  get  as  much  work  as  possible  out 
of  the  poor  old  beast  before  he  drops  into  his 
grave," 

"  A  man  who  keeps  his  old  horse  after  his 
day  of  usefulness  is  past,  or  gives  it  into  a  good 


BUYING   A   HORSE  45 

mistress's  hands,  as  Ladybird  has  been  given 
to  you,  is  a  Christian,"  said  Hiram  in  reply, 
"  I  don't  care  what  his  creed  an'  doctrin'  may 
be.  '  A  merciful  man  is  merciful  to  his  beast ' 
is  a  Scriptur'  verse  that  means  just  what  it 
says ;  if  the  Lord  had  'a  meant  to  add  '  as  long's 
it's  profitable  '  he'd  'a  seen  that  it  read  so  - 
tho'  I  ain't  one  o'  them  Christians  that  git 
out'n  all  responsibility  by  layin'  all  kinds  o' 
evil  to  the  ways  o'  Providence." 

Vehicles,  too,  of  all  kinds,  she  was  impor- 
tuned to  buy.  One  man,  noted  for  his  trading 
propensities,  appeared  every  week  that  first 
Summer  with  something  which  he  "  had  been 
told  she  wanted  to  buy."  Perhaps  it  was  a  cow, 
perhaps  a  cart,  perhaps  a  bicycle,  perhaps  a 
setting  hen.  There  seemed  no  end  to  his  per- 
sistency, and  his  visits,  in  season  and  out  of 
season,  became  a  standing  joke  in  the  family. 
Ploughs,  harrows,  calves,  colts,  pigs,  turkeys, 
dump-carts,  baby-carriages,  second-hand  bu- 


46  SPINSTER   FARM 

reaus,  stoves,  old  clocks,  tinware,  lawn-settees, 
strawberry  plants  and  an  open-air  swing  were 
only  a  few  of  the  bargains  he  offered  Spinster 
Farm. 

Ladybird  well  repaid  the  tender  care  that 
was  given  her.  She  was  the  daintiest  creature 
that  ever  drew  a  carriage,  and  insisted  on  having 
the  details  of  her  toilet  attended  to  every  day. 
If  her  hoofs  were  not  properly  cleaned  and 
washed  —  and  Hiram  saw  little  need  for  carry- 
ing such  niceties  to  an  extreme  —  Ladybird 
would  thrust  her  feet  on  the  attention  of  Peggy, 
holding  them  up,  one  by  one,  for  inspection, 
and  saying  plainly : 

.•  "  How  can  you  expect  me  to  give  you  my 
best  service  unless  I  am  made  clean  and  trig 
and  in  good  fettle?  "  And  so  it  happened  al- 
most daily  'hat  the  Spinster  herself  sponged 
off  Ladybird's  face  and  "  pedicured  her  hoofs." 
Her  long  mane  and  flowing  tail,  too,  were  as  care- 
fully brushed  out  as  any  lady's  hair,  the  mare 


BUYING   A   HORSE  47 

showing  her  appreciation  for  these  attentions 
by  loving  dabs  of  her  velvet  nose  as  well  as 
by  giving  her  best  speed  out  on  the  road.  For 
no  one  can  get  the  best  out  of  a  horse  without 
giving  as  even  exchange  a  thorough  care  of  the 
animal's  needs.  Frequent  visits  had  to  be  made, 
too,  to  the  blacksmith,  where  "  under  the 
spreading  chestnut-tree,  the  village  smithy 
stood."  The  Spinster  used  to  mix  the  warm 
mash  of  bran  and  cornmeal  seasoned  with  raw 
apples,  and  personally  saw  that  there  was  a 
warm,  thick  bed  of  sawdust  covered  with  litter 
at  night,  whereon  Ladybird  might  rest  easy 
after  her  ten  or  twenty  mile  drives. 

"  I  wish,  Auntie,"  said  Peggy  with  a  laugh, 
"  your  city  friends  could  see  you  working  over 
Ladybird  some  of  these  days.  Wouldn't  they 
be  shocked?  Item.  '  The  noted  Miss  Fleming, 
ex- school-committee,  is  spending  the  season 
at  her  country  place  in  Elysium,  doing  her 
own  stable- work.'  " 


48  SPINSTER   FARM 

"  A  far  more  healthful  and  useful  — yes, 
and  enjoyable  — occupation  than  presiding  over 
a  club-meeting,  or  wading  through  a  fashionable 
reception,"  retorted  the  Spinster.  "  There 
is  nothing  better  for  worn-out  nerves  and 
tired-out  heads  than  caring  for  a  horse  — 
though  if  Hiram  were  a  trained  stableman  I 
should  not  do  this.  And  Ladybird  is  so  dainty 
and  careful  of  herself  that  I  would  rather, 
by  far,  take  care  of  her  than  wash  Mrs.  Jenkin 
Jones's  lap-dog,  as  she  does,  or  comb  fleas 
out  of  Miss  Swampscott's  Angora  cats." 

There  were  glorious  drives  in  all  weathers, 
ranging  from  the  road  to  Shaker  Village  and 
on  by  Still  River  over  Prospect  Hill,  where 
the  delighted  vision  swept  across  a  broad,  fertile 
valley  to  the  western  mountain  range,  the  land- 
scape dotted  by  hamlets  and  villages  and  a  city 
or  two,  to  shorter  ones  through  enchanting 
woods,  the  silence  broken  only  by  bird  notes 
or  the  challenging  squirrel,  or  perhaps  a  stray 


BUYING   A   HORSE  49 

fox  or  a  deer,  which  stood  quietly  and  gazed 
at  the  intruders  until  the  soft  pat  of  Ladybird's 
hoofs  on  the  sandy  road  died  away;  for  these 
wood-folk  know  at  once  whether  the  invader 
of  their  territory  carries  a  gun.  Mile  after  mile 
they  rode  among  the  "  second  growth  "  of  slim, 
tall  trees,  until  their  souls  were  steeped  in  the 
filtering  sunlight  and  visions  of  the  heart  of  the 
woods  stayed  in  the  background  of  memory 
all  evening,  and  until  sleep  —  sound,  refreshing, 
health-restoring  sleep  —  closed  their  brain- 
shutters  with  the  early  darkness. 

Is  there  a  greater  delight  than  to  hold  the 
reins  over  an  intelligent  horse  that  loves  you 
and  wants  to  please  you?  There  is  a  subtle 
affinity  between  horse  and  driver  that  cannot 
be  translated  into  words  or  made  plain  to  the 
non-sympathetic  reader.  Almost  from  the 
start  the  Spinster  found  it  unnecessary  to  draw 
the  rein  to  guide  Ladybird.  If,  a  dozen  rods 
before  they  reached  a  turn  in  the  country  road, 


50  SPINSTER    FARM 

she  said  to  her  companion,  "  I  believe  I'll  turn 
to  the  right  out  here ;  I  want  to  see  where  that 
road  goes,"  the  mare  would  turn  of  her  own 
accord  with  no  pressure  of  the  rein.  Or  if, 
when  they  approached  the  familiar  turns  near 
Spinster  Farm  after  a  long  drive,  some  errand 
at  the  post-office  claimed  attention,  the  Spinster 
had  only  to  -say,  "  We  won't  turn  off  here, 
Ladybird;  we've  got  to  go  to  the  post-office 
first,"  and  the  dear  creature  would  forge  ahead, 
never  casting  one  longing  look  at  the  short  way 
home.  Never  once  did  she  show  symptoms 
of  weariness,  but  inevitably  came  home  on  a 
long,  swinging  trot,  looking  as  fresh  as  if  she 
had  not  left  many  a  mile  of  dusty  road  behind 
her. 

There  was  a  day,  for  instance,  when  the 
Spinster  and  Peggy  drove  to  a  neighbouring 
town  and  railroad  junction  to  meet  the  Pro- 
fessor, who  had  telephoned  that  he  was  coming 
out  to  luncheon.  The  Presiding  Genius  of  the 


BUYING   A   HORSE  51 

kitchen  having  decided  company  luncheons 
to  be  both  useless  and  unprofitable,  they  over- 
came a  threatened  domestic  cataclysm  by 
driving  with  him  to  the  famous  Groton  Inn, 
which  antedates  the  Revolution  by  some  dec- 
ades. As  they  drove  away  from  the  station 
the  Spinster  said : 

"  Now  go  over  to  the  drug- store,  Ladybird." 
And  when  they  drew  up  exactly  in  front  of  the 
apothecary's  shop  in  the  centre  of  a  big  brick 
block,  she  could  not  refrain  from  a  triumphant, 
"There,  what  do  you  think  of  that?  And 
I  did  not  guide  her  a  particle." 

"  Oh,  come,"  returned  the  Professor,  "  don't 
ask  me  to  believe  that.  You  pulled  on  the 
rein  ever  so  little." 

"  I  did  not,"  answered  the  Spinster. 

"  Then  I  require  proof,"  persisted  the  Pro- 
fessor. "I'll  believe  it  when  I  see  it.  Like 
the  Missourian,  you  must  show  me." 

"Very  well,"   the  Spinster  replied.     "We 


52  SPINSTER   FARM 

are  coming  to  a  turn  soon  where  I  shall  ask  her 
to  take  the  unfamiliar  road.  I'll  show  you; 
though  I  shall  not  be  surprised  if  she  fails  me 
this  time." 

About  half  a  mile  up  the  highway  one  branch 
of  the  road  goes  to  Groton  and  the  other  to 
Elysium  Centre.  Ladybird  had  always  taken 
the  latter,  but  when  they  came  within  a  rod  of 
the  "  Y '  the  Spinster  dropped  the  reins 
loosely  in  her  lap. 

"  Go  to  Groton  this  morning,  Lady,"  she  said. 

The  mare  turned  her  head  and  looked  back 
inquiringly;  she  wore  no  blinders  and  often 
communicated  with  her  mistress  in  this  way. 

"  Yes,  go  straight  ahead  to  Groton,"  repeated 
the  Spinster,  with  not  a  little  doubt  that  Lady- 
bird would  understand.  But  the  intelligent 
creature  turned  back  and,  with  one  longing 
look  up  the  road  to  Elysium  Centre,  forged 
ahead  toward  Groton  as  if  she  had  travelled 
that  road  for  years. 


BUYING   A   HORSE  53 

"  Well,  I  give  up,"  was  the  Professor's 
comment.  "  I  did  not  think  it  possible." 

Who  can  tell  what  goes  on  in  the  mind  of  a 
horse?  When  she  first  reached  Spinster  Farm 
the  mare  showed  symptoms  of  fear  at  only  one 
object  —  a  white  cow.  Automobiles,  motor- 
cycles, electric  cars,  steam  rollers,  had  no  terrors 
for  her,  but,  having  lived  in  a  great  city  since 
colthood,  she  had  not  encountered  cows.  Con- 
sequently she  now  looked  at  them  askance, 
sidling  and  bridling  in  their  presence  as  if  they 
had  been  made  of  dynamite  and  were  liable 
to  explode  at  any  moment.  But  there  came  a 
day  when  she  was  turned  loose  in  the  home  lot, 
to  wander  among  the  short  clover  rowen  at  her 
will.  Over  in  the  next  field  near  the  fence,  a 
white  cow  was  tethered,  and  straight  toward  her 
went  Ladybird,  stopping  now  and  then  to 
snort  disapproval.  With  the  contented  in- 
difference of  her  kind,  the  cow  chewed  peace- 
fully on,  oblivious  of  Ladybird's  attentions; 


54  SPINSTER    FARM 

seeing  which,  the  mare  went  cautiously  to  the 
fence  and  gazed  intently  at  the  cow  for  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour.  Evidently  she  made  up 
her  equine  mind  that  a  cow  was  decidedly 
harmless,  and  probably  useful,  for  after  that 
period  of  close  study  Ladybird  paid  no  further 
attention  to  the  bovines  of  Elysium. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  NEIGHBOURHOOD 

"  AWAY  off  out  there  in  the  country,  what 
will  you  do  for  companionship  ?  "  asked  her 
friends. 

But  the  Spinster  was  then  too  tired  to  care 
whether  she  had  neighbours  or  not.  Fortunately, 
however,  Elysium  Centre,  with  its  winding, 
tree-embowered  street,  was  one  of  the  few 
strongholds  of  old  New  England  civilization 
which  are  left  in  this  age  of  modern  inventions. 
The  few  quaint  old  houses  which  clustered 
around  the  historic  old  "  Common,"  whereon 
nearly  a  hundred  sturdy  rebels  of  the  King 
had  gathered  in  Revolutionary  days,  still  con- 
tained the  remnants  of  old  families  which  in 

their  day  had  stood  for  all  that  was  best  in  the 

56 


56  SPINSTER   FARM 

New  England  character.  And  the  Spinster 
knew  that  she  might  look  there  for  educated 
companionship  when  she  chose.  A  few  city 
people,  too,  who  had  eyes  to  discern  and  appre- 
ciate its  charm,  had  discovered  Elysium,  and 
six  months  of  the  year  these  were  quiet  residents 
of  delightful  old  places,  rejuvenated  and  made 
pleasant  and  livable  with  books  and  music 
and  cordial  friendliness.  Bordering  her  land 
on  one  side  was  a  well-known  literary  man 
and  his  sprightly  young  wife,  who  was  also 
writing  a  book.  On  the  other  side  was  the 
Francis  family.  Farther  over  were  the  Summer 
haunts  of  musicians  and  actors  and  editors 
and  Nature-lovers,  who  came  to  Elysium  for 
quiet  and  rest  and  the  rejuvenation  that  cometh 
not  with  Summer  dissipations  and  fine  clothes. 
And  hers  was  not  by  any  means  the  only  old 
house  that  had  been  developed  and  beautified 
into  a  modern  residence.  They  were  not 
without  their  mild  Summer  gaieties,  either, 


THE   NEIGHBOURHOOD          57 

There  was  an  annual  dance,  which  was  attended 
by  the  best  people  in  all  the  towns  around; 
the  annual  concert,  given  by  artists  from  the 
cities  who  happened  to  be  staying  near  by; 
and  the  occasional  garden  party,  where  gathered 
all  the  cultivated  ladies  of  both  town  and  country. 
There  was  plenty  of  informal  visiting  and 
the  friendly  neighbourliness  which  comes  of 
meeting  the  same  people  day  after  day,  driving 
about  the  country  hatless  and  without  cere- 
mony. There  were  among  the  year-round 
residents,  too,  as  in  most  of  the  older  New 
England  homes,  educated  and  delightful  ladies 
of  quaint,  old-fashioned  charm,  who  kept  up 
with  the  march  of  the  outside  world  by  means 
of  the  abundant  reading-matter  which  pene- 
trated Elysium  Centre  and  passed  from  family 
to  family  until  it  was  nearly  worn  out. 

Best  of  all  were  the  Francis  family,  of  whom 
the  Spinster  had  bought  the  old  house  where 
Mrs.  Francis  had  been  born,  and  where  she 


58  SPINSTER   FARM 

had  grown  up  into  a  sweet,  shy,  quaint  creature, 
resembling  nothing  so  much  as  the  dainty 
wild  rose  which  grew  so  abundantly  in  the  pas- 
ture, blooming  most  delicately  "beautiful  where 
no  eye  saw  it.  "  Micky  "  their  actress  friend 
named  her,  in  a  spirit  of  mischievous  perversity, 
and  as  "  Micky  "  the  Spinster  loved  to  think 
of  her,  because  the  sobriquet  was  so  absolutely 
inappropriate. 

Mr.  Francis  was  an  innate  gentleman,  with 
the  perfect  breeding  which  comes  from  the  clean, 
white  soul  of  a  true  man.  These  two,  with 
little  Dolly  Francis,  a  quaint,  unusual  child 
of  six,  made  up  the  Francis  family,  who  at  first 
owned  the  land  beyond  hers,  occupying  a  hand- 
some house  filled  with  beautiful  and  rare  old 
Colonial  furniture  and  china.  But,  as  the  fame 
of  Elysium  spread,  this  house  was  sold  to  some 
friends  of  the  Spinster's,  who  had  responded 
to  the  fast-spreading  promptings  to  return  to 
the  country  for  a  home. 


THE   NEIGHBOURHOOD          59 

The  old  west  pasture  was  reserved,  however, 
and  in  this,  well  back  from  the  road,  the  Francis 
family  made  themselves  a  home  after  their 
own  ideas.  "  Pasture-Holm  "  was  some  dis- 
tance back  from  the  highway,  and  approached 
by  an  old  cart-road  bordered  with  goldenrod 
and  blueberry  and  sumach  and  wild  roses. 
Many  of  their  townspeople,  who  were  blessed 
with  an  infinite  capacity  for  understanding 
their  neighbour's  needs  better  than  their  own, 
wondered  at  this  choice  of  location,  some  even 
going  so  far  as  to  remonstrate,  but  Mr.  Francis 
only  listened  courteously  and  went  on  with  his 
plans. 

It  was  a  long,  low-pitch-roofed  house  of  two 
stories,  placed  picturesquely  in  the  middle 
of  a  group  of  monstrous  chestnut  and  oak  and 
walnut  trees.  There  was  no  architect  but  them- 
selves, and  consequently  no  "  Queen  Anne 
front  with  Mary  Anne  back."  In  fact  it  was 
impossible  to  tell  which  was  the  back  of  the 


60  SPINSTER   FARM 

house  when  it  was  done,  for  two  opposite 
corners,  on  the  northwest  and  southwest,  were 
exactly  alike,  each  having  its  square  piazza, 
big  front  door  and  its  side  lights.  The  living- 
rooms,  even  to  the  chambers,  were  all  on  the 
first  floor,  and  designed  to  simplify  the  problem 
of  housekeeping  as  much  as  possible.  The 
great  main  living-room,  thirty  feet  long,  had 
windows  opening  on  three  sides,  looking  across 
billows  of  wild  shrubbery  to  hill  and  vale, 
south,  west  and  north.  In  this  room  were 
gathered  many  curious  souvenirs  and  pieces 
of  handsome  furniture  that  had  come  down  from 
Colonial  ancestors.  Here  was  a  desk  that  once 
belonged  to  Oliver  Holden,  composer  of  that 
immortal  tune  "  Coronation."  Here  were 
quaint  old  hanging-lamps  of  a  previous  century ; 
a  corner  cupboard  that  dated  back  more  than 
a  hundred  years;  a  corner  seat  made  from 
a  church  pew  that  had  seen  ecclesiastical 
service  in  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century ; 


THE   NEIGHBOURHOOD          61 

a  Heppelwhite  sofa  brought  over  from  England 
when  the  land  was  young.  For  the  Francis's 
were  artistic  to  the  finger-tips  and  had  the 
advantage  of  combining  with  artistic  taste  a 
sure  knowledge  of  what  was  "  fit  and  proper," 
and  the  inheritance  of  many  beautiful  things. 
A  big  old-fashioned  brick  fireplace  in  the 
middle  made  the  heart  of  this  home  bright 
and  cosy  in  dull  weather,  and  the  room  soon 
became  a  centre  for  the  best  of  Elysium  folk, 
native  and  foreign,  artists  and  literati  from 
everywhere,  as  well  as  their  own  kith  and  kin. 
"  Because  they  are  so  simple  and  sincere 
in  themselves,"  the  Spinster  said  in  answer 
to  Peggy's  "Why?"  "They  are  thorough 
gentlefolk,  with  the  magic  art  of  putting  every 
one  at  his  or  her  best  who  comes  within  their 
radius.  There  is  no  sham,  no  artifice ;  in  them 
we  have  something  more  than  good  neighbours 
—  we  have  thoroughly  dependable  friends  for 
life." 


62  SPINSTER   FARM 

On  that  old  "  Common,"  too,  stood  a  historic 
church. 

"  We  hear  a  great  deal  about  the  decadence 
of  the  country  church  in  these  later  days.  Doubt- 
less with  the  spread  of  literature  (good  and  bad), 
the  advent  of  cheap  amusements,  the  Sunday 
newspaper,  the  trains  and  trolleys  that  take 
us  in  an  hour  into  the  city,  the  church  is  not 
so  well  patronized  as  it  used  to  be  when  people 
had  no  other  way  of  meeting,  except  now  and 
then  at  the  country  store  and  post-office,"  wrote 
the  Spinster  to  the  Professor. 

"  I  question  whether  it  was  so  much  a  pure 
religion  undefiled  that  took  our  grandmothers 
to  church  with  all  their  families  to  stay  through 
two  services,  with  Sunday-school  between  and 
an  hour  for  visiting  with  the  rest  of  the  towns- 
folk, as  it  was  the  need  of  social  recreation 
and  some  sort  of  mental  stimulus,  which  the 
church  alone  could  supply  in  those  days.  Think 
a  minute.  If  you  had  no  club,  no  newspaper, 


THE   NEIGHBOURHOOD          63 

Sunday  or  daily,  no  trains,  no  trolleys,  no 
telephones,  no  telegraphs,  no  automobiles, 
no  social  connections  besides  those  the  church 
afforded,  wouldn't  you  jump  at  the  chance 
of  going  to  church  every  Sunday,  taking  your 
luncheon  and  the  children  and  staying  all  day  ? 
Methinks  I  hear  a  *  Yes.' 

"  Still,  the  country  church  is  not  so  dead 
as  many  people  imagine  it  to  be.  Here  in 
Elysium,  for  instance,  there  are  several  churches 
open  every  Sunday.  More  than  there  ought 
to  be?  Well,  let  it  go  at  that;  still  there  are 
a  goodly  number  of  churchgoing  people  out 
here.  Four  churches  keep  most  of  the  people 
down  at  the  '  Village,'  which  is  the  enterprising 
end  of  the  town ;  but  up  here  at  the  old  Centre 
we  have  a  big  white  church  that  was  built 
before  the  Revolution,  and  in  front  of  which 
eighty  men  mustered  for  the  Concord  fight. 
It  has  a  beautiful  great  mahogany  pulpit  and 
a  basket  Bible  given  by  Madam  Lydia  Hancock, 


64  SPINSTER   FARM 

the  beloved  aunt  of  Governor  Hancock.  In 
this  old  church  have  preached  several  stanch 
old  ministers  whose  names  stood  for  all  that 
was  noble  a  half  or  a  whole  century  ago.  Dr. 
Seth  Chandler,  '  Elder '  Whitney  and  others 
were  well  known  throughout  Massachusetts  in 
their  day.  Oliver  Holden,  who  composed 
'  Coronation,'  worshipped  in  it  when  a  boy, 
and  who  shall  say  how  much  of  inspiration  the 
old  church  furnished  him?  And  now,  beside 
the  pulpit  hangs  a  beautiful  bronze  tablet 
to  his  memory. 

"  Well,  perhaps  the  congregation  has  shrunk 
since  then,  so  that  it  is  hard  work  to  keep  up 
the  services;  but  still  the  few  who  love  the  old 
church  are  not  willing  to  see  its  doors  closed, 
and  so,  by  hook  or  by  crook,  we  manage  to 
keep  a  supply.  As  usual,  it  is  the  women  who 
are  doing  most  of  it.  A  few  of  the  stanch  de- 
scendants of  those  '  gone  before,'  aided  by  a 
few  more  '  new  people,'  have  formed  a  Woman's 


THE   NEIGHBOURHOOD          65 

Alliance  and  are  creating  fresh  interest  through 
its  work.  Thus  they  serve  two  ends:  they 
keep  up  the  services,  and  they  get  what  an  old 
teacher  of  mine  used  to  designate  as  '  religious 
festivities  and  ecclesiastical  dissipation.'  For 
their  meetings  every  two  weeks  have  drawn 
the  women  of  this  part  of  the  town  together  into 
bonds  of  friendship  and  mutual  esteem  as 
nothing  has  done  for  years.  They  are  raising 
the  money  necessary  to  eke  out  the  small  fund 
belonging  to  the  church,  cultivating  the  spirit 
of  neighbourliness  and  keeping  up  the  old 
traditions.  Isn't  this  worth  while?  But  they 
have  done  more  than  this.  A  month  or  two 
ago,  when  funds  got  low  and  some  little  in- 
debtedness was  troubling  the  parish  committee, 
it  was  proposed  to  close  the  church  until  warm 
weather.  No!  the  women  voted  against  it. 
They  said : 

"  '  If  we  can't  pay  a  preacher,  we'll  carry 
on   the   meetings  ourselves.'     And   they  did. 


66  SPINSTER   FARM 

The  Sundays  were  apportioned  among  the 
leading  women.  Each  one  takes  charge  of  the 
services,  selecting  all  the  hymns,  arranging 
for  special  solo  services,  finding  the  best  sermon 
she  can  and  reading  it  clearly  and  distinctly, 
even  making  the  prayer,  if  necessary.  The 
services  have  been  of  the  deepest  interest  and 
have  '  drawn  '  outsiders,  who,  if  they  did  not 
come  to  scoff,  remained  to  pray,  and  seemed 
to  like  it. 

"  When  you  go  to  church  again,  walking 
along  the  fine  Back  Bay  street,  or  whirled 
along  in  trolleys,  just  give  a  thought  to  how  it 
would  seem  to  be  out  in  the  country,  walking 
over  the  grassy  paths  that  converge  at  the  old 
church  in  the  centre  of  Elysium.  There  will 
be  just  a  tinge  of  green  showing  up  through 
the  brown  of  winter-killed  carpets.  Here  and 
there,  if  you  take  the  short  cut  through  the 
pasture,  there  will  be  a  cluster  of  green,  waxy 
leaves  with  arbutus  buds  shining  up  at  you. 


THE    NEIGHBOURHOOD          67 

Overhead,  on  near-by  apple-trees,  from  elm- 
tops,  everywhere,  birds  will  be  singing  and  call- 
ing —  the  blackbird's  '  okale-e-e-e,'  the  robin's 
cheery  note,  the  bluebird's  melody,  the  meadow- 
lark,  the  freshly  arrived  oriole.  Buds  will 
be  shaking  out  on  the  shrubs  and  trees ;  fleecy, 
white  clouds  will  be  gathered  on  the  wide 
horizon;  across  the  valley  you  will  note  the 
splendid  white  tower  of  the  Groton  School; 
on  the  other  side  you  will  note  the  deep  blue 
of  Wachusett;  now  and  then  will  come  the 
clarion  call  of  Sir  Chanticleer  as  he  musters 
his  hens  beside  him.  And  everywhere  will 
be  the  Sabbath  stillness,  such  as  you  will 
remember  to  have  been  a  part  of  Sunday  when 
you  were  a  boy  in  the  country,  or  at  your 
grandfather's  house. 

"  Then  you  will  come  out  into  the  pretty 
winding  road  again,  only  to  turn  aside  into 
another  short  cut,  which  will  take  you  into 
the  old  cemetery,  where  you  may  be  early 


68  SPINSTER   FARM 

enough  to  linger  and  read  some  quaint  old 
epitaphs  on  stones  of  a  hundred  years  ago. 
Anyhow  you  will  walk  softly  under  great  trees 
by  the  graves  of  Revolutionary  soldiers  and 
heroes  of  the  Civil  War  and  past  the  tombs 
of  first  settlers  who  were  here  long  before  the 
old  church  was  built;  you  will  think  to  your- 
self how  pleasant  a  place  to  lie,  when  '  life's  fitful 
fever '  is  over ;  and  then  you  will  come  out  at 
the  church.  You  will  go  in,  and  even  if  there 
are  but  few  in  the  audience  and  there  is  no 
vested  choir  and  no  great  orator  in  the  pulpit, 
you  will  feel  the  solemn  hush  of  the  place,  and 
call  to  mind  the  hundreds  of  good  people  who 
have  worshipped  there  a  century  and  a  half; 
and  you  will  feel  that  there  may  be  such  a  thing 
after  all  as  the  presence  there  of  the  spirits, 
good,  gentle,  helpful  spirits  of  '  just  men  made 
perfect.'  And  you  will  not  think  much  about 
the  sermon,  anyway;  you  will  just  be  content 
to  sit  in  the  Presence,  and  to  let  the  silent 


THE   NEIGHBOURHOOD          69 

influences  permeate  your  soul,  so  that  you  can 
go  out  again  by  and  by,  rested  body  and  soul, 
ready  to  take  up  life's  burdens  and  pleasures 
once  more,  serene  and  strong  and  hopeful. 
For  isn't  this  the  true  worship  of  the  spirit? 

"J.  F." 


CHAPTER  V 
PEGGY'S  AFFAIRS 

PEGGY  was  twenty,  with  big  brown  eyes 
and  light,  abundant  hair.  In  place  of  college, 
she  had  chosen  the  art  school  and  was  looking 
forward  to  a  career.  As  usual,  her  friends 
did  not  take  to  this  idea  any  too  seriously; 
who  ever  does  think  much  about  a  girl's  career 
when  she  is  twenty  and  rather  more  than  com- 
monly attractive?  Robert  Graves,  who  was 
twenty-five,  through  college  and  already  in  a 
minor  editorial  capacity  on  a  daily  paper, 
certainly  did  not.  On  the  contrary,  he  took 
the  ordinary  man's  view  of  the  subject.  From 
the  first  time  he  saw  Peggy,  when  she  had  come 

home  from  school  with  one  of  his  sisters,  he 
70 


PEGGY'S   AFFAIRS  71 

had  looked  upon  her  as  the  most  feminine  of 
all  the  girls  he  knew,  —  which  meant,  although 
he  did  not  put  it  that  way  as  yet,  that  she  was 
the  one  woman  in  the  world  for  him. 

It  was  because  of  this  feeling,  all  uncon- 
sciously, that  he  did  not  approve  the  project 
of  her  going  out  into  the  country  to  live;  or 
that  he  did  not  feel  that  she  was  meant  by 
Mother  Nature  for  a  "  career."  And  they 
sometimes  disputed  this  point  together,  when 
he  would  hint  at  her  shortcomings  in  the 
pursuit  of  Art,  whereupon  Peggy  would  get 
very  angry  and  feel  that  genius  was  seldom 
appreciated  at  its  true  worth.  And  the  Spinster 
looked  on,  highly  amused;  for  she  was  old 
enough  to  realize  that  this  was  only  a  part  of 
"  the  way  of  a  man  with  a  maid,"  and  trusted 
God  for  the  rest,  holding  her  tongue  mean- 
while. 

At  first,  Robert  came  out  frequently  and  had 
to  admit  the  beauty  and  restfulness  of  Elysium 


72  SPINSTER   FARM 

Centre ;  but  the  day  came  when  he  was  ordered 
to  New  York  for  his  paper,  and  good  journalist 
as  he  was,  with  the  hope  of  rising  in  his  pro- 
fession, he  was  obliged  to  go.  He  came  out 
one  Sunday  with  the  Professor  for  a  last  visit 
with  Peggy.  When  dinner  was  over  the  two 
young  people  strolled  away  by  themselves, 
up  into  the  chestnut  pasture,  and  he  told  her 
about  it. 

"  And  you  are  going  to  bury  yourself  in  hot 
old  New  York  all  this  divine  summer?  "  she 
asked.  "  I'm  so  sorry  —  for  you,"  she  added, 
seeing  the  look  in  his  eyes. 

"Peggy,  won't  you  come  too?"  he  asked 
impulsively. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  answered  quickly.  "I  —  I 
couldn't." 

"  Yes,  you  could,"  he  answered.  "  Come, 
Peggy,  I  want  you.  I  -  -  I  think  I  love  you," 
he  hesitated,  not  knowing  exactly  how  to  put  it. 

"You  think  you  do?"   she  retorted  with 


PEGGY'S   AFFAIRS  73 

spirit.  "  Well,  I  like  that.  The  man  I  --  well, 
he'll  know ;  he  won't  think.  No,  no,  of  course 
not." 

She  rose  from  the  log  where  they  had  been 
sitting.  "  Come,  let's  go  back  to  the  house. 
It's  getting  too  warm  out  here."  And  she 
started  at  a  swinging  gait. 

"  Peggy,  dear,  won't  you  hear  me? "  he 
began,  trying  to  keep  up  with  her.  "  I  do  love 
you.  Of  course  I  do.  Won't  you?" 

"  You  think  you  do,"  she  said  over  her 
shoulder.  "  You'd  better  wait  until  you  find 
out."  And  she  sped  on,  paying  no  further 
heed  to  his  protestations.  Neither  did  she 
give  him  another  chance  for  a  word  alone,  not 
even  when  train- time  came,  and  the  two  men 
went  away., 

But  a  week  later,  she  had  a  note  from  Rob- 
ert's sister: 

"  Dear  Peggy,"  it  began.  "  You'll  be 
surprised,  I  know,  to  hear  that  I  am  in  Bayside, 


74  SPINSTER   FARM 

a  little  out  of  New  York  for  the  summer.  Rob- 
ert has  been  promoted  on  his  paper  and  is  now 
New  York  correspondent,  which  is  a  very  fine 
thing  indeed,  if  you  did  but  know  it.  And  as 
mother  and  I  had  no  particular  plans  for  the 
summer,  she  came  right  over  here  and  took  a 
cottage  at  this  little  place  on  Long  Island, 
close  to  the  water.  You  must  come  over  and 
stay  awhile  with  us,  later  on."  ("  Not  if  I  know 
it,"  murmured  Peggy  to  herself,  for  she  still 
resented  Robert's  unique  way  of  declaring 
himself.)  "  Write  me  all  about  your  venture 
out  there  in  the  wilds  of  Massachusetts.  Aren't 
you  sick  of  it  ?  Robert  said  you  would  be  tired 
to  death  of  it  before  summer  was  half  over. 
Are  you  ? 

"  Yours  devotedly, 

"  SALLIE." 

"  Oh,  he  did,  did  he?  "  she  said  to  herself 
as  she  folded  the  letter  away.     "  He  thinks 


PEGGY'S   AFFAIRS    .  75 

I  will  go  to  New  York  simply  because  I  shall 
be  dying  of  ennui ;  and  he  thinks  he  loves  me, 
does  he?  Well,  he'll  find  out  for  certain,  / 
think."  But  she  sat  down  and  wrote  a  long 
letter  to  her  friend.  Perhaps  she  knew  that 
her  letter  would  be  read  by  others  than  Sallie. 

"  Dear  Sallie,"  she  began. 

"  I  can't  begin  to  tell  you  how  interesting, 
how  peaceful,  how  inspiring  these  particular 
'  wilds  of  Massachusetts '  are.  I  suppose 
you  would  laugh  if  I  told  you  that  I  look  down 
upon  your  little  seaside  cottage  half  an  hour 
from  New  York.  I  run  down  to  Boston  occa- 
sionally, and  I  feel,  coming  back  into  this 
charming  place,  like  a  disembodied  soul  just 
entering  Paradise.  And  Boston  in  summer 
is  not  half  so  bad  as  New  York.  We  are  high 
up  among  the  hills,  you  know,  and  when  the 
rest  of  the  country  is  parched  we  are  cool  and 
comfortable.  Every  time  I  get  off  a  train  and 
step  out  into  the  clean,  fresh  country  I  feel  like 


76  SPINSTER   FARM 

singing.  The  other  night  I  came  up  from 
the  station  with  Hiram.  He  drove  around  the 
longest  way  home  over  a  beautiful  road,  fringed 
with  alders  and  young  birches.  We  had  a  good 
view  of  the  distant  hills,  too,  and  as  I  watched 
the  setting  sun  sift  his  sprays  of  yellow  gold- 
dust  down  the  mountain-sides,  and  the  faint, 
floating  clouds  over  the  rosy  hilltops,  I  just 
drew  a  long  breath.  And  Hiram  looked  at  me 
and  said: 

"  '  Wai,  I  guess  you  like  it  up  here  all  right.' 
And  I '  guess  '  I  do. 

"  I  have  been  here  only  two  months  yet,  and 
am  in  love  with  the  bright,  picturesque  mornings, 
the  still,  warm  noons,  the  lovely  sunset  views. 
There  is  a  '  bosky  knoll '  a  little  way  from 
the  house  and  I  go  up  there  almost  every  night 
to  watch  the  sun  go  down.  I  am  sitting  up 
there  now,  writing  to  you  —  with  my  best 
fountain  pen,  which,  for  a  wonder,  goes.  I 
haven't  lost  my  temper  once  since  I  started. 


PEGGY'S   AFFAIRS  77 

"  There  are  myriads  of  birds  around  here 
and  they  are  singing,  singing,  singing  all  day 
long.  They  begin  long  before  you  awake  in 
the  morning  and  keep  it  up  until  after  the  sun 
goes  down  at  night.  The  oriole  sits  on  the 
nearest  elm  and  says  his  vespers;  the  teacher- 
bird  perches  on  a  bush  up  in  the  pasture  and 
fires  off  his  musical  volley;  the  robin  calls 
across  the  meadow  to  his  confreres.  Then 
there  is  the  catbird.  Do  you  know  him?  — 
the  Northern  mocking-bird?  We  have  one 
nesting  up  here  and  he  lingers  around  this  old 
pasture  and  sings  his  changeful,  mocking, 
fascinating  song  all  day.  Now  you  think  it  is 
a  robin,  now  a  pewee,  now  the  oriole,  now  a 
whippoorwill ;  and  then  you  get  all  mixed  up 
and  cannot  unravel  the  tangle  of  song  he  is 
reeling  off.  His  voice  is  a  little  rusty  yet,  as 
if  he  had  not  got  the  full  use  of  his  vocal  organs ; 
but  the  winter  of  his  discontent  is  ended  and  he, 
like  the  rest  of  us,  is  glad  to  be  back  in  Elysium 


78  SPINSTER   FARM 

again  with  its  growing  grass  and  fast  unfolding 
apple-blossoms.  The  brown  thrasher  is  here 
too,  flying  from  thicket  to  thicket,  trying  to 
make  up  his  mind  which  is  the  better  building 
lot.  I  saw  a  hundred  blackbirds  in  one  flock 
one  day,  flying  across  the  sunlit  sky  in  one  mass, 
uttering  their  guttural  '  chut,  chut,  chut,'  and 
alighting,  all  of  them,  in  a  big  elm-tree ;  then 
they  combined  in  such  a  chorus  of  '  o-ka-lee- 
ee-ees '  as  you  never  heard.  And  what  do 
you  say  to  counting  twenty-two  scarlet  tanagers 
on  the  ground,  just  over  the  fence  in  a  field  of 
ploughed  ground?  That's  what  we  did;  and 
the  fanner  could  not  see  that  their  presence 
there  among  the  grubs,  before  he  planted  his 
potatoes,  meant  good  and  not  ill  to  him.  They 
were  the  most  gorgeous  sight  ever,  and  when  a 
woman  has  once  seen  them  like  that,  or  a  big 
flock  of  bluebirds,  or  fed  a  bunch  of  blue  jays 
all  winter,  do  you  think  she  is  going  to  wear  any 
part  of  them  on  her  hat  ?  Perish  the  thought. 


PEGGY'S   AFFAIRS  79 

"  A  whippoorwill  has  made  his  appearance, 
too,  in  a  neighbouring  bit  of  wood.  Toward 
night,  sitting  on  the  piazza,  looking  off  south 
and  listening  to  the  frogs'  piping,  and  the  bird- 
twittering,  and  the  distant  voices  of  playing 
children,  you  can  hear  him  earnestly  and  vocifer- 
ously entreating  that  punishment  befitting  his 
crime  be  meted  out  to  him.  I  like  it  myself, 
and  said  so  to  a  bright  player  lady  who  used 
to  board  here  before  we  found  the  place;  but 
she  held  up  horrified  hands. 

"'Like  it?  Heavens!'  she  cried.  'Why, 
when  I  used  to  stay  at  your  house,  he  would 
establish  himself  at  bedtime  in  that  great  vase 
elm  at  the  corner  of  the  house,  within  twenty 
feet  of  my  bed,  and  cry  "  Whippoorwill,  whip- 
poorwill," at  the  rate  of  forty-five  a  minute 
and  keep  it  up  without  ceasing  until  the  sun 
rose.  Why,  I've  come  within  one  of  committing 
suicide  in  my  time,  just  because  of  your  dear 
old  whippoorwill.' 


80  SPINSTER   FARM 

"  And,  speaking  of  the  piazza,  at  twilight, 
a  big  young  deer  showed  himself  the  other  night 
as  we  sat  there,  and  only  a  few  rods  away, 
across  the  orchard.  Evidently  he  was  intending 
to  come  across  the  yard,  but  some  one  cried 
out,  '  Oh,  see  that  deer ! '  and  away  he  flew, 
two  rods  at  a  leap. 

"  I  wish  you  were  here.  And  thank  you  for 
your  invitation  to  visit  you.  I  hardly  think 
Aunt  Janet  could  spare  me  at  present.  You 
would  be  surprised  to  see  that  woman  !  Instead 
of  the  dignified  and  rather  severe  mistress  of 
a  Boston  house,  she  is  just  a  plain  country 
woman,  taking  hold  of  all  sorts  of  work  as  if 
she  enjoyed  it,  —  as  I  know  she  does. 

"  It  is  my  especial  task  to  keep  the  vases 
and  pitchers  full  of  wild  (or  any  other)  flowers. 
Also,  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  the  neighbours. 
No,  there  are  not  many.  But  I  like  them  all 
so  much.  The  nearest  are  some  people  who 
have  a  fine  old  mansion  known  as  Thornton 


PEGGY'S   AFFAIRS  81 

Lodge.  The  master  is  known  as  '  Square ' 
Thornton,  although  c  Round  '  would  be  a  far 
more  appropriate  title.  Besides  him,  there  are 
his  wife  and  two  maiden  daughters,  —  and 
Jack!  I  confess  to  a  profound  admiration 
for  Jack.  No ;  I  don't  know  him,  -  -  yet. 
But  I  shall.  But  this  is  too  long  a  letter,  and 
I  must  hurry  it  over  to  the  post-office  in  the 
general  store,  or  it  will  be  too  late  for  the  last 
mail.  So  with  a  loving  good-bye,  I  am 
"  Your  old  chum, 

"  PEGGY." 


CHAPTER   VI 

MAKING   OVER  THE  HOUSE 

WITH  a  telephone  in  the  old  house  that  had 
stood  so  many  years  before  railroads  and 
steamboats  were  invented,  and  plenty  of  maga- 
zines and  daily  papers  and  new  books,  they 
found  themselves  still  close  to  town.  No  one 
need  be  isolated  to-day,  unless  by  choice. 
"  Twenty-five  acres,  more  or  less,"  the  deed  to 
Spinster  Farm  said,  but  they  would  have  told 
you  infinitely  more;  for  did  it  not  bring  room 
for  quiet,  for  reading  new  books,  for  thinking 
one's  own  thoughts,  for  open-air  living  ? 

But  the  Spinster  soon  found  that  attractive 
as  the  old  house  was  in  many  ways,  it  lacked 
the  small  conveniences  of  daily  life  that  are  a 

82 


MAKING    OVER   THE   HOUSE     83 

matter  of  course  in  more  modern  establish- 
ments. This  was  no  disappointment,  however, 
for  in  her  anticipations  of  an  old  country  house 
had  been  included  the  remodelling  to  suit  her 
own  ideas.  Not  for  the  world  would  she  have 
destroyed  the  quaint,  old-time  charm  of  the 
house.  The  front  was  in  excellent  repair,  and 
it  seemed  such  a  pity  to  change  its  dignified 
exterior  that  she  took  warning  from  certain 
bay-windowed  and  betowered  old  houses  and 
refrained  from  architectural  incongruities. 
Mullioned  windows  and  ornate  balconies  and 
gingerbread  trimmings  have  their  uses  on 
certain  types  of  modern  houses,  but  the  square, 
pre-Revolutionary  mansions  of  the  seventeenth 
and  eighteenth  centuries  are  as  painful  a  spec- 
tacle when  subjected  to  these  "  adornments  " 
as  the  woman  of  seventy  is  arrayed  in  the  garb 
of  sweet  sixteen.  The  mansion  was  originally 
built  with  a  two-story  front  and  a  long  roof 
sloping  down  to  one  story  at  the  back,  an 


84  SPINSTER   FARM 

ingenious  style  of  architecture  designed,  in  the 
days  of  the  Georges,  especially  to  defeat  the 
tax  which  had  been  imposed  on  the  colonists 
by  the  British  Parliament,  by  which  they  must 
pay  a  bounty  on  two-story  houses  —  along  with 
their  tea.  But,  generations  ago,  this  sloping 
roof  had  been  changed  so  that  the  house  was 
square,  and  there  were  two  complete  stories, 
besides  the  attic,  which  clustered  about  the  great 
central  chimney.  Still,  there  was  need  of  more 
convenient  arrangement  within,  and  twenty 
years  had  elapsed  since  the  old  clapboards 
had  tasted  fresh  paint.  The  entire  group  of 
farm-buildings  was  harmonious,  with  their 
low-pitched  roofs  and  solid  style  and  soft  gray 
time-stain,  with  the  exception  of  one  new  barn, 
high  and  narrow,  with  a  steep  roof.  This  the 
Spinster  had  drawn  over  and  attached  to  the 
main  body  of  the  house.  Then  she  had  the 
roof  lowered  and  a  twenty-foot  veranda  with 
massive  pillars  built  out  where  the  "  ell " 


MAKING   OVER   THE   HOUSE     85 

came  on,  enlarging  and  improving  the  whole 
establishment.  An  old  pantry  and  dark  pas- 
sageway were  turned  into  a  square  hall  that 
opened  on  this  west  piazza,  and  it  was  soon  a 
mooted  question  which  was  the  more  attractive, 
the  old-time  front  door  with  its  knocker  and  its 
ancient  flagstones  or  the  inviting,  glass-topped 
one  from  the  wide  west  veranda. 

While  these  repairs  were  going  on,  like  all 
dwellers  in  rural  neighbourhoods,  the  entire 
district  was  agog.  Not  being  on  terms  of  suffi- 
cient intimacy  to  ask  questions  of  the  Spinster 
or  Peggy,  they  speculated  among  themselves, 
often  within  earshot  of  the  house, 

"  What  is  that  woman  going  to  do?  " 

"  Well,  well !  if  she  ain't  gone  and  moved 
the  hoss-barn  up  to  the  house.  Now,  what  is 
her  idee  in  that?  " 

"  That  peaked  roof  towerin'  above  the  house 
itself  is  a  sight,  ain't  it?  " 

When  the  roof  was  finally  lowered  they  began 


86  SPINSTER   FARM 

to  take  heart  again.  "  Don't  look  so  bad  now, 
does  it?  Shouldn't  wonder  if  she  made  quite 
a  place  on't  after  all." 

Some  weeks  elapsed  between  the  carpenters 
and  the  painter  —  weeks  that  kept  them  guess- 
ing. When  work  was  fairly  begun  with  the 
paint-brushes,  she  could  hear  again : 

"Now,  what  did  she  have  it  yaller  for? 
Some  o'  these  new  shades  o'  green  would  look 
a  sight  better."  Peggy  sometimes  wondered 
if  the  inhabitants  would  have  been  pleased  had 
her  aunt  seen  fit  to  adorn  the  whole  establish- 
ment with  the  twelve  gallons  of  bright  "  dump- 
cart  "  blue  that  were  shipped  by  mistake  in 
place  of  the  Colonial  yellow  ordered.  One 
woman  especially  delighted  them  as  she  was 
driving  up  the  hill  with  a  friend : 

"Yes;  she  took  an'  moved  the  hoss-barn 
over  an'  made  a'  ell  of  it.  Yes;  looks  real  well, 
but  if  it'd  'a'  be'n  me,  now,  I'd  'a'  moved  it 
round  the  other  way  an'  took  the  old  part  for 


MAKING    OVER   THE   HOUSE     87 

the  ell;  an'  I  should  V  painted  the  hull  set 
o'  buildin's  salmon  pink  an'  trimmed  'em  with 
two  shades  o'  green,  like  one  I  see  over  to 
Pleasant  Town." 

But  when  it  was  all  done,  and  the  old  house 
stood  forth  in  its  shining  coat  of  Colonial  yellow 
with  white  trimmings  and  green  blinds,  the 
neighbours  were  much  pleased  and  agreed  that 
it  was  "  one  of  the  show  places  of  the  town." 

A  house  takes  its  atmosphere  from  those 
who  live  in  it,  and  De  Horte  Mansion,  as  it 
used  to  be  called,  had  been  the  home  for  several 
generations  of  gentle,  peaceful  folk.  There 
was  an  air  of  brooding  peace  about  the  place 
that  first  March  day,  and  restfulness  has  been 
its  most  blessed  attribute  ever  since.  Whether 
you  wander  about  the  grounds  or  swing  from 
a  hammock  under  the  apple-trees,  whether  you 
sit  by  the  open  fire  in  evening  or  look  out  from 
the  cool  living-room  in  the  day,  the  soothing 
silence  quiets  your  nerves,  while  at  night  the 


88  SPINSTER    FARM 

i 

great  soft  darkness  brings  a  sense  of  protection 

and  healing  and  confidence  in  the  to-morrows- 
to-be  that  rejuvenates  and  strengthens  the 
weary  brain.  It  is  then  you  appreciate  the 
quotation,  "  When  silence  like  a  poultice  comes 
to  heal  the  blows  of  sound ;  "  that  is,  if  you  have 
known  the  full  meaning  of  that  phrase,  "  the 
blows  of  sound." 

The  old-fashioned  rooms  she  had  found  easy 
to  furnish,  her  familiar  belongings  fitting  in 
as  if  they  had  always  been  there.  The  Sheraton 
chairs  and  sofas,  with  her  prettiest  escritoire, 
looked  as  though  they  had  been  especially 
designed  for  the  low-ceiled  "  keeping-room," 
which  she  made  still  more  attractive  by  having 
a  set  of  book-shelves  built  across  one  end.  Her 
piano  and  two  other  book-cases  took  away 
the  "  best  parlour  "  air  and  made  this  a  thor- 
oughly delightful  spot.  The  old  dining- 
room,  too,  had  its  corner-shelves  built  in  for 
books;  and  with  still  other  well-filled  book- 


MAKING   OVER   THE   HOUSE     89 

cases,  its  broad,  comfortable  couch  heaped 
with  pillows  and  its  open  fireplace,  it  came 
soon  to  be  what  it  was  called,  the  "  living- 
room."  Here  they  sat  through  the  chilly  eve- 
nings and  rainy  days,  when  the  piazza  and 
Summer-house  were  too  cool,  and  here,  in- 
deed, was  the  heart  of  the  home.  For  before 
they  had  dwelt  three  months  in  Elysium, 
Spinster  Farm  had  come  to  seem  the  truer 
embodiment  of  that  magic  word,  "  home," 
than  any  other  spot  they  had  ever  known.  To 
the  real  nature-lover,  no  matter  how  fine  and 
costly,  the  city  apartment  can  never  be  more 
than  a  makeshift.  And  the  Spinster  early  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  she  would  never  occupy 
one  unless  it  should  be  for  the  coldest  Winter 
months. 

One  of  the  most  satisfactory  things  the 
Spinster  built  was  the  Summer-house,  a  simple^ 
low-roofed  structure,  with  shingled  pillars, 
set  under  the  apple-boughs  in  the  orchard,  in  a 


90  SPINSTER   FARM 

spot  seemingly  designed  for  it  especially  by 
Mother  Nature.  The  entire  cost  of  this  affair, 
ten  by  twenty  feet,  was  less  than  twenty  dollars. 
Peggy  planted  woodbine  at  every  one  of  the 
six  shingled  posts,  and  the  addition  of  an  old 
steamer-chair,  with  two  or  three  rockers  and 
some  rugs,  made  the  place,  under  whispering 
apple-boughs  and  in  the  midst  of  interminable 
bird  concerts  and  soft  breezes,  the  real  centre 
of  Spinster  Farm  in  Summer  weather. 

They  had  already  removed  various  old  fences, 
half  decayed  and  utterly  ugly,  and  taken  down 
the  one  five  feet  high  around  the  old  farmyard, 
throwing  that  space  into  the  grounds;  they 
had  cleared  up  the  tangled  rose-garden,  re- 
setting the  old  York  and  Lancaster,  the  blush, 
the  little  Scotch  and  the  moss  and  thornless 
and  yellow  roses  in  rows.  They  found  a  white 
rose-bush  at  the  house-corner  which  had  been 
set  out  by  a  bride  in  1829,  and  which  had 
blossomed  sixty  consecutive  years  for  her,  during 


MAKING   OVER   THE   HOUSE     91 

which  period  the  hearthstone  never  grew  cold ; 
but  none  of  the  roses  were  more  beautiful 
than  the  brilliant,  low-growing  "  grass-roses," 
which  vie  in  hue  and  fragrance  with  their  proud 
cousin,  the  American  Beauty,  but  which  do 
not  respond  to  transplanting  and  tender  care, 
preferring  to  linger  in  lowly  corners  or  in  the 
grass  by  the  roadside.  And  through  half  the 
Summer  Peggy  made  it  a  rule  to  put  a  fresh- 
picked  half-blown,  dewy  grass-rose  beside  her 
aunt's  plate  at  the  breakfast-table,  where  it 
brought  the  elder  woman  its  dainty  "  good- 
morrow  "  through  many  a  week  of  bright 
good-mornings. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   SERVANT  QUESTION 

UP  to  the  moment  of  going  into  Elysium, 
in  sixteen  years  of  housekeeping  no  servant 
had  ever  left  Janet  Fleming  voluntarily.  And 
when  people  said,  "  You  will  never  be  able  to 
keep  a  maid  out  there.  They  just  won't  stay 
in  the  country,"  the  Spinster  only  laughed 
and  congratulated  herself  on  Mary  Jane. 

It  had  been  the  custom  of  this  particular 
kitchen  queen  to  say  in  the  heat  of  Summer, 
in  the  Autumn  rains,  at  the  time  of  the  advent 
of  plumbers  in  Winter,  in  the  slush  of  Spring; 
in  fact,  at  all  seasons: 

"  Oh,  Miss,  I  want  you  to  move  out  into  the 
country.  That  is  the  only  place  to  live." 
Whereupon  the  Spinster  would  ask: 

92 


THE   SERVANT    QUESTION       93 

"  Would  you  go  with  me,  Mary  Jane  —  and 
stay?  " 

"  Sure  and  I  would,"  was  her  invariable 
reply.  "  The  country  is  the  only  place  for  me. 
I  would  never,  never  leave  you  if  you  would  only 
buy  a  farm." 

With  that  oft-repeated  assurance,  could  the 
Spinster  not  afford  to  hug  herself  in  the  security 
of  the  domestic  problem?  For  Mary  Jane  had 
scolded  interminably  about  the  small  kitchen, 
the  incorrigible  range,  the  close  proximity  of 
the  noisy  street,  the  wrong  location  of  the 
refrigerator,  the  height  of  the  set  tubs  from  the 
floor,  the  pitch  of  the  cellar-stairs,  the  heat 
in  Summer,  the  cold  in  Winter  —  in  short, 
about  every  possible  item  connected  with  house- 
keeping in  the  city  — so  that  the  Spinster  felt 
sure  she  would  welcome  the  change  into  the 
great  roomy  kitchen  on  the  farm. 

When  they  returned  from  that  first  visit 
to  Elysium  the  Spinster  went  into  the  kitchen. 


94  SPINSTER   FARM 

"  Well,  Mary  Jane,  you  are  going  to  have  your 
wish  now.  I  have  bought  a  farm." 

"  Miss  Fleming !  You  are  not  going  to 
move?"  and  she  dropped  one  of  Peggy's 
prettiest  dishes  in  her  astonishment. 

"  Yes;  next  month,"  the  Spinster  responded. 

"  Miss  Fleming !  "  and  Mary  Jane  sank 
aghast  into  her  rocking-chair.  "  Are  you  going 
to  leave  this  lovely  house,  this  beautiful  kitchen 
with  all  its  conveniences,  and  go  off  into  one 
of  those  old  country-houses,  without  hot  and 
cold  water  and  set  tubs  and  electric  lights  and 
telephones  and  steam  heat  and  electri:  bells? 
Oh,  Miss  Fleming !  "  And  she  fairly  moaned 
in  her  agony. 

"  Why,  Mary  Jane,"  began  the  Spinster 
feebly,  "  you've  always  said  you  wanted  to  go. 
I'm  counting  on  you.  I  thought  you'd  like  it." 

But  the  handmaiden's  displeasure  gathered 
momentum  as  her  wails  grew  louder.  "  I 
know  all  about  those  places,"  she  groaned; 


THE   SERVANT    QUESTION       95 

"  damp,  mouldy,  rotten  old  holes.  You'll 
have  to  be  getting  a  new  girl  now,  for  sure." 

"  Now,  Mary  Jane,  don't  be  hasty,"  pleaded 
the  Spinster,  "  take  time  to  think  it  all  over. 
Don't  decide  to-night,"  and  she  fled  incon- 
tinently up  the  front  stairway. 

A  week  later  the  oracle  opened  its  lips  again : 
"  I've  decided  to  go  out  to  the  place  with  you 
and  help  start  things  going.  But  I  sha'n't 
stay." 

The  Spinster  was  dumbly  grateful,  on  the 
principle  that  the  fewest  words  said,  the  least 
friction.  Meanwhile  she  and  Peggy  planned 
for  the  country  place.  There  was  a  tiny  bed- 
room off  the  kitchen,  which  they  thought  Mary 
Jane  would  like,  but  she  was  non-committal. 
"  I  presume  it'll  do,"  she  said ;  "  but  you  know 
I'm  only  there  a  few  days,  anyhow." 

But  once  fairly  there,  bag  and  baggage, 
when  the  Spinster  directed  the  men  to  set  Mary 
Jane's  little  bed  in  this  little  room,  she  sniffed 


96  SPINSTER   FARM 

her  contempt.  "  You  can  have  it  put  up  there 
if  you  want  to,"  she  snapped  out,  "  but  I  go 
back  to  Boston  to-night."  . 

Perhaps,  as  some  contend,  half  the  trouble 
between  mistress  and  maid  comes  from  the 
lack  of  firmness  on  the  part  of  the  former. 
But  how  is  one  to  be  firm  with  one's  own  maid 
forty  miles  from  an  intelligence  office,  and  the 
house  just  as  the  movers  left  it?  Theory  and 
practice  walk  in  divergent  paths  sometimes, 
when  it  is  necessary  to  call  Discretion  in  to 
help. 

"  Well,  then,  will  you  take  the  little  room 
off  the  dining-room  —  the  one  I  had  planned 
to  use  for  my  writing-den?  "  asked  the  Spinster, 
slavishly. 

"  I  will  look  at  it,"  was  the  lofty  reply.  But, 
no,  that  would  not  do.  It  was  damp,  cold, 
unhealthy,  unsafe.  She  would  catch  rheuma- 
tism. She  would  have  diphtheria.  A  Man 
would  get  into  her  window  at  night.  They  all 


THE   SERVANT   QUESTION       97 

would  be  murdered  in  their  beds.  She  tramped 
off  up-stairs  and  came  back.  There  was  a  long, 
pleasant  west  chamber  looking  out  on  the 
mountains,  which  the  Spinster  had  set  her  heart 
on  the  first  time  she  had  seen  it.  This  Mary 
Jane  chose  and  would  not  be  denied. 

"  But  I  want  that,"  objected  Miss  Fleming, 
"  I  will  take  Peggy  in  with  me  and  give  her  the 
couch,  and  you  may  have  the  smaller  room 
opening  beyond,  the  one  I  had  intended  for  her." 

"  And  have  to  go  through  your  room  to  get 
to  it?  "  she  asked,  with  a  snort  of  disdain.  "  It 
isn't  my  place  to  be  going  over  the  front  stairs. 
There  is  only  one  way.  I  will  go  back  to 
Boston."  Of  course,  they  should  have  given 
her  a  month's  pay  in  advance  and  allowed  her 
to  depart  at  once,  but  the  Spinster  was  still  feeble 
and  unfitted  to  cope  with  the  situation.  She 
gave  up  the  coveted  room  and  took  another, 
and  Mary  Jane  stayed  to  wield  authority  all 
Summer.  Not  peacefully  and  contentedly. 


98  SPINSTER   FARM 

Oh,  no.  She  gave  notice  regularly  every  fort- 
night, a  performance  which  seemed  to  relieve 
her  mind,  and  to  which  the  Spinster  paid  no 
attention  whatever.  She  had  her  pleasant  days 
when  all  went  merry  as  the  proverbial  marriage 
bell.  But  that  was  when  neither  the  Spinster 
nor  Peggy  presumed  to  dictate  or  meddle  with 
kitchen  affairs. 

There  was  the  day  when  the  Spinster  rashly 
presumed  to  buy  a  tin  dipper.  Now  a  two- 
quart  tin  water-dipper  is  seemingly  an  inoffen- 
sive and  useful  object,  but  when  the  Spinster 
came  home  and  deposited  a  new  one  on  the 
kitchen-table,  the  smile  she  had  looked  for  as 
a  just  reward  proved  to  be  a  frown,  one  of  Mary 
Jane's  sourest. 

"What  did  you  buy  that  thing  for?"  she 
demanded. 

"  Why,  to  dip  water  with,"  answered  the 
Spinster,  in  conciliatory  accents.  "  I  thought 
it  would  save  steps  for  you." 


THE   SERVANT   QUESTION       99 

"  Huh !  "  was  the  reply. 

Four  days  later  Peggy  happened  to  go  into  the 
pantry  and  there  lay  the  tin  dipper  still  wearing 
its  accumulation  of  store  dust. 

"  You  don't  seem  to  care  for  your  new  dipper," 
she  remarked,  pleasantly,  but  with  poor  judg- 
ment. "  Why  don't  you  get  it  out  and  use  it?  " 

"  We  didn't  want  that  dipper.  We  didn't 
need  that  dipper.  We  won't  use  that  dipper," 
Mary  Jane  began  wildly.  "  Why  should  your 
aunt  meddle  with  my  kitchen  anyway? " 
and  then  followed  such  a  torrent  of  words  that 
the  Spinster,  in  the  doorway,  was  fain  to  beat 
a  retreat  and  flee  to  the  blackberry  patch  on 
the  farthest  edge  of  the  farm,  where  the  south- 
west wind,  the  soft  blue  Summer  skies  and  the 
meadow-lark  on  the  fence  combined  to  bury 
the  servant  problem  in  deep  oblivion;  but 
it  was  three  days  before  Mary  Jane  conde- 
scended to  speak  again  of  her  own  free  will. 

There  were  other  times  when  the  Spinster 


100  SPINSTER   FARM 

forgot  her  lesson  and  bought  more  kitchen 
accessories,  only  to  get  soundly  berated,  a  new 
dust-pan  nearly  disrupting  their  relations  at 
one  time.  And  she  recalled  the  remark  of  a 
friend,  who  had  suffered,  also: 

"The  servant  problem?"  this  woman  had 
said  one  day.  "  The  only  way  I  can  solve  it 
is  to  go  without  any  maid  for  awhile  to  rest  my 
head;  then  I  get  one  again  to  rest  my  heels. 
I  don't  know  which  is  worse  I  " 

But  there  was  always  the  big  orchard  at 
Spinster  Farm,  where  one  could  drop  all 
worries  and  draw  upon  the  ineffable  sympathies 
of  Nature ;  and  it  is  wonderful  how  small  indoor 
worries  and  unpleasantnesses  are  when  you 
take  them  into  the  big  outdoors. 

Mary  Jane  loved  Nature,  too*  Often  she 
would  leave  her  dish-washing  or  her  ironing  in 
the  midst  of  those  duties  and,  calling  Pomp, 
her  favourite  cat,  trail  off  across  the  orchard  into 
the  west  pasture  and  sit  awhile  under  the  group 


THE    SERVANT    QUESTION      101 

of  old  chestnut-trees,  drinking  in  the  peace  and 
calmness  of  the  Summer  day.  When  she  came 
back  her  soul,  too,  was  calm  and  sunshiny  — 
even  if  her  irons  were  cold,  And  so  they  got 
on.  After  all,  it  is  infinitely  more  important 
that  the  temper  should  be  cool  than  that  the 
dish-water  be  hot.  Mary  Jane  and  the  Spinster 
both  comprehended  this  great  psychological 
truth  and  so  lived  through  their  small  difficul- 
ties. Sometimes  Peggy  went  with  Mary  Jane 
and  they  took  long  rambles  in  the  woods,  where 
no  fern  or  flower  escaped  their  notice,  for  to 
Peggy  all  woods  are  enchanted. 

But  when  the  short  days  came  on  Mary 
Jane's  notice-giving  propensities  grew  on  her  until 
a  time  when  the  Spinster  astonished  her  by  saying ; 

"  Very  welL    This  time  I  accept  your  notice 
I  shall  get  another  girl." 

[l  I  hope  you  will,"  was  her  answer,  "  for 
I  really  must  get  back  to  Boston.  I've  stayed 
out  here  too  long." 


102  SPINSTER   FARM 

Three  weeks  later  she  was  informed  that 
another  girl  was  coming. 

"  Miss  Fleming !  "  she  cried,  "  I  never  thought 
you  would  turn  me  outdoors  after  the  long 
time  I've  served  you."  In  vain  she  was  reminded 
that  she  had  given  notice  of  her  own  free  will 
and  that  three  weeks  had  elapsed  since  it  had 
been  accepted.  No,  the  Spinster  was  cruel 
and  heartless.  Mary  Jane  had  no  pkce  to  go 
and  was  being  turned  from  the  door  into  a  cold 
and  unsympathetic  world.  The  Spinster  felt 
almost  an  inhuman  monster  when  the  weeping 
maid  was  finally  carried  from  the  yard,  calling 
to  the  cat  in  a  voice  broken  by  sobs: 

"  Good-bye,  old  Pomp.  I  shall  never  see  you 
again." 

Of  course  there  have  been  others,  and  must 
continue  to  be  others  till  the  crack  o'  doom. 
There  was  the  girl  who  boiled  the  potatoes 
in  the  teakettle,  and  the  elderly  person  who 
was  miserable  and  irresponsible  without  a 


THE   SERVANT    QUESTION      103 

certain  "  headache  powder,"  and  the  girl  who 
had  been  on  the  stage  as  chorus  singer  and  who 
bewitched  every  man  who  came  near.  There 
was  the  girl  who  would  not  stay  because  she 
could  not  have  the  dining-room  to  entertain 
company  in,  and  the  girl  who  had  never  carried 
a  key  to  the  back  door  and  would  not  begin 
now,  and  the  woman  just  out  from  an  insane 
asylum.  And  then  the  Spinster  took  some  of  the 
valuable  advice  that  had  been  so  freely  prof- 
fered and  tried  having  a  woman  with  a  baby. 

"  She  would  be  so  contented,  you  know." 
She  was.  Her  contentment  was  so  great  that 
after  the  infant  had  broken  half  the  best  dishes, 
fed  the  hens  with  cake  and  sweetmeats  until 
they  had  dyspepsia,  and  screamed  with  colic 
nights  until  the  family  were  all  fit  inmates  for 
the  insane  asylum,  and  the  Spinster  had  told 
her  that  they,  too,  must  part  company,  the  girl 
calmly  replied  that  the  place  suited  her,  she  had 
no  desire  to  change,  and,  in  short,  would  not  go. 


104  SPINSTER   FARM 

It  took  Miss  Fleming  a  bad  half-hour  to  convince 
her  that  she  could  not,  would  not  and  should 
not  keep  her  any  longer.  And  so  Alice,  too, 
went  the  way  of  all  the  rest,  but  cheerfully, 
and  promising  to  take  Johnnie  some  day 
and  come  back  to  pay  them  a  visit. 

Is  there  anywhere  among  civilized  people 
a  household  exempt  from  these  experiences, 
or  exalted  above  the  need  of  discussing  the 
servant  question?  Newspapers  give  much 
space  to  it;  the  drawing-room  selects  it  as  fit 
for  polite  conversation ;  even  the  pulpit  tackles 
it  upon  occasion.  We  are  always  reading  about 
underpaid  servant-girls  and  hard  task-mistresses, 
and  in  some  cities  housemaids  are  forming 
into  unions  for  protection  and  "  relief."  But 
we  seldom  see  a  word  on  the  housewife's  side. 
No  one  seems  ever  to  propound  the  idea  that 
the  skilled  housekeeper  should  be  classed  with 
skilled  labour.  Nobody  proposes  any  schemes 
for  the  protection  of  employers  against  incom- 


THE   SERVANT    QUESTION      105 

petence,  unfaithfulness,  dishonesty,  uncleanli- 
ness,  and  a  hundred  other  faults. 

"  You  can't  expect  perfection  at  three  or 
four  dollars  a  week,"  said  the  Professor,  "  and 
you  should  reflect  that  if  your  maid  had  brains 
enough  to  bring  good  judgment  and  competency 
and  education  into  your  kitchen  she  would  not 
be  there  at  all." 

But  then,  he  was  a  mere  man ;  and  how  can 
men  know  ? 


CHAPTER  VIII 
PEGGY'S  AFFAIRS  AGAIN 

DEAR  SALLIE:  -  -  Tired  of  country  life? 
Never.  Why,  it  is  all  so  simple  and  natural 
and  satisfying  that  it  is  just  like  a  poem;  you 
wonder  why  you  didn't  realize  and  live  it  before. 
When  I  marry  I  shall  settle  right  down  on  a 
farm !  So  you  see  you  need  not  expect  me  as 
an  inmate  of  your  seaside  cottage  at  present. 
I  know  something  of  life  at  the  beach,  and  al- 
though one  could  never  tire  of  the  sea,  -  -  I'll 
admit  so  much,  —  to  me  there  is  not  a  tenth  part 
of  the  charm  of  the  country  up  here.  Up  here 
in  this  lovely  summer  we  read  of  the  dreadful 
heat  in  and  around  New  York ;  and  every  time 
I  pity  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  We 

106 


PEGGY'S   AFFAIRS   AGAIN      107 

sleep  with  blankets  over  us  every  night.  We 
stroll  about  in  the  early  and  latter  parts  of  the 
day  and  stay  in  cool  shady  rooms  while  the  sun 
is  high.  In  our  big,  square  house,  with  win- 
dows open  everywhere,  there  is  always  a  cool 
corner.  There  is  plenty  to  read,  with  sewing 
and  embroidery  and  writing  to  take  up  our 
time,  and  a  refreshing  nap  to  be  taken  in  the 
afternoon;  for  nobody  calls  here  during  the 
warmest  hours.  I've  done  a  lot  of  things  to- 
day, although  outside  the  mercury  runs  up 
between  eighty  and  ninety.  Yet,  I  haven't 
once  thought  of  the  heat. 

By  and  by  we  shall  go  out  for  a  ride,  with 
The  Good  Thing  prancing  gaily  along  and 
champing  her  bit.  She  will  step  proudly  forth 
with  her  long,  swinging  stride  that  carries  us  so 
smoothly  and  swiftly,  and  will  look  from  side 
to  side,  her  ears  pointed  forward  and  nose  in 
air,  to  see  if  perchance  there  may  not  be  some- 
thing, a  lone  cornstalk  with  waving  plumage, 


108  SPINSTER   FARM 

a  yellow  dog  in  the  bushes,  even  her  own 
shadow,  that  she  may  pretend  to  shy  at;  but 
she  will  scare  no  one,  for  we  know  her  and  that 
a  word  will  bring  her  to  her  senses;  she  would 
no  more  run  or  kick  or  do  any  real  damage 
than  if  she  were  the  pokiest  of  horses.  She 
loves  to  alarm  us,  but  when  she  has  done  this 
she  will  stop  and  look  out  of  the  corner  of  her 
eye,  with  such  a  roguish  look  that  we  have  no 
heart  to  scold  her. 

I  went  up  to  her  stable  a  few  moments  ago, 
just  for  a  bit  of  conversation  with  her;  for 
The  Good  Thing  is  a  part  of  the  family  and  we 
all  go  up  to  exchange  courtesies  with  her  now 
and  then.  On  our  part  we  offer,  in  emulation 
of  Eugene  Field's  restaurant  order,  an  apple 
and  a  few  kind  words.  On  hers  there  is  a  soft 
velvet  nose  thrust  out,  a  big  brown  head  laid 
affectionately  over  our  shoulders,  a  soft  whimper. 
Don't  tell  me  a  horse  don't  know ! 

What  do  you  suppose  I  gave  her  this  last 


PEGGY'S   AFFAIRS   AGAIN      109 

time  I  called  at  her  big,  roomy  box  stall?  An 
egg.  What  for?  Why,  to  eat,  of  course. 
Didn't  you  know  a  horse  would  eat  eggs  ?  Well, 
I  didn't  until  one  day  when  we  discovered 
that  a  pullet  seemed  to  be  laying  in  the  manger 
where  The  Good  Thing  eats.  Day  after  day 
the  pullet  squatted  on  her  nest,  oblivious  to  all 
worldly  sights  and  sounds ;  but  we  never  could 
find  the  egg.  And  then,  mistrusting  her  honesty, 
we  offered  The  Good  Thing  a  fresh  egg.  She 
simply  opened  her  lips,  took  it  in,  and  rolling 
her  eyes  heavenward,  swallowed  it,  shell  and 
all.  Since  that  day  she  has  consumed  scores 
of  them.  Good  horsemen  say  that  is  why  her 
coat  is  so  soft  and  fine  and  glossy;  but  we 
think  possibly  the  hour's  work  that  is  given 
to  that  coat  every  morning  has  something  to 
do  with  her  sleek  appearance. 

We  shall  go  off  over  the  hills,  up  through  the 
Centre,  and  westward  to  the  Pray  Woods. 
Perhaps  we  shall  see  a  fox  gliding  along  out  on 


110  SPINSTER   FARM 

the  rim  of  the  hill;  perhaps  we  shall  start  up 
a  pheasant,  or  a  red  squirrel  will  chatter  at  us 
as  we  slip  by;  perhaps  we  shall  meet  there, 
as  we  did  one  other  day,  a  tiny  mouse  running 
along  in  the  road,  in  a  dreadfully  panic-stricken 
flight  at  the  sight  of  us  monsters;  and  then 
The  Good  Thing  will  walk  carefully  and  turn 
aside  so  as  not  to  step  on  the  little  creature,  just 
as  she  did  before.  We  shall  climb  some  steep 
hills  under  majestic  old  pines  and  come  out  on 
Flat  Hill,  and  drive  across  and  down  home 
another  way,  getting  a  fine  view  of  miles  of 
rolling  country,  hills  and  dales  and  woods  and 
mountains  -  -  Wachusett  at  one  end  of  the  line 
and  Monadnock  and  "Pack"  at  the  other; 
and  we  shall  come  home  flying  as  the  sunset 
is  flushing  the  wide  western  sky. 

The  Good  Thing  will  be  carefully  rubbed 
down  and  a  thick  bed  will  be  strewn  on  her 
floor  and  a  warm  mash  with  carrots  and  apples 
given  her  for  supper  (when  she  is  cool  enough), 


PEGGY'S   AFFAIRS   AGAIN      111 

and  she  will  be  as  glad  she  went  as  we  shall  be. 
As  for  us,  we  shall  have  a  hot  supper,  too,  and 
then  an  hour  or  two  before  an  old  fireplace 
that  warmed  a  Tory  before  the  Revolutionary 
War,  and  has  warmed  many  a  good  patriot 
since.  And  we  shall  dream  and  read  and  talk 
there  for  awhile,  and  then  we  shall  climb  the 
little,  narrow,  old-fashioned  staircase  to  bed. 
And  when  the  light  is  out  and  we  settle  ourselves 
with  a  contented  sigh  for  the  night,  we  shall 
say  for  the  hundredth  time : 

"  Yes,  let  those  have  the  city  who  want  it; 
as  for  me,  I  wrill  lift  mine  eyes  to  the  hills  whence 
cometh  my  help." 

Yes  (to  your  question),  I  really  love  these 
people.  I  find  them  plain,  as  you  say,  but 
unaffected  and  intelligent  and  many  of  them 
well-bred.  Some  of  them  looked,  at  first,  with 
a  little  distrust  on  people  from  "  down  country," 
but  when  they  once  realize  that  we  are  not 
unduly  exalted  by  the  mere  accident  of  having 


112  SPINSTER   FARM 

lived  in  Boston,  they  become  at  once  cordial 
and  neighbourly.  People  here  have  so  much 
more  time  for  reading  than  we  of  the  cities, 
and  for  thinking;  and  some  of  them  are  de- 
voted to  such  solid  literature  as  would  give  any 
young  woman  outside  Boston  a  headache  just 
to  think  of ;  and  they  have  views,  too,  on  most 
subjects,  which  they  express  in  shrewd,  pro- 
vincial language  that  wins  your  respect,  if  not 
your  admiration.  I  have  become  quite  intimate 
over  at  Thornton  Lodge  now,  and  when  I 
take  my  daily  walks  abroad  I  do  not  always 
go  alone.  And  by  the  way,  there  was  a  steady 
refrain  to  your  last  letter.  "  Quarrelled  with 
Robert  "  it  said  over  and  over.  Begging  your 
pardon,  I  didn't.  He  quarrelled  with  me.  Now 
Jack  Thornton  and  I  never  have  a  word  of 
difference.  He  is  ever  my  most  devoted  slave. 
He  never  obtrudes  his  opinions,  and  never 
criticizes  mine.  The  whole  family  are  delightful. 
Miss  Charlotte,  the  older,  is  "  literary  "  and 


PEGGY'S   AFFAIRS   AGAIN      113 

has  an  occasional  poem  in  the  Transcript. 
Miss  Alice  is  devoted  to  fancy-work,  and  we  can 
meet  there  in  rainy  weather.  In  fine  I  will  not 
be  cabined,  cribbed,  confined  for  all  the  Honiton 
lace  and  shadow  embroidery  in  the  world. 
I'd  rather  roam  the  fields  with  Jack.  He  is 
waiting  outside  for  me  now.  So,  a  loving 
good-bye. 

PEGGY. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  GARDEN 

«  A  Garden  is  a  lovesome  thing,  Got  wot ! 
Rose  plot, 
Fringed  pool, 
Ferned  grot  — 

The  veriest  school  of  peace ;  and  yet  the  fool 
Contends  that  God  is  not  — 

Not  God  !  in  gardens !  when  the  eve  is  cool? 
Nay,  but  I  have  a  sign ; 
'Tis  very  sure  God  walks  in  mine." 

—  Thomas  Edward  Brown. 

Or  course,  they  must  have  a  garden.  Who 
ever  lived  on  twenty-five  acres  of  land  without 
raising  at  least  a  part  of  his  own  vegetables? 
They  had  not  been  in  the  country  a  month 
when  they  received  with  their  morning's  mail 
a  seedman's  pamphlet,  one  of  those  gorgeous, 
highly  coloured  affairs  that  promise  so  much 

114 


THE    GARDEN  115 

in  their  flamboyance.  The  Spinster  read  it 
from  cover  to  cover,  and  grew  more  enthusi- 
astic with  every  page.  When  Peggy's  turn  came 
she  was  fairly  radiant  with  enthusiasm.  All 
those  gorgeous,  luxuriant,  mammoth  blossoms 
should  flaunt  in  their  flower-garden;  all  those 
luscious,  toothsome,  juicy,  appetite-provoking 
vegetables  should  grow  for  them  behind  their 
barn.  They  would  have  a  garden.  Nay,  they 
would  have  two. 

It  was  Hiram's  busy  time.  He  was  trying 
to  fill  the  place  not  only  of  Paul  who  plants  and 
Apollos  who  waters,  but  of  Him  who  giveth 
the  increase,  for  himself  and  all  his  neighbours ; 
in  other  words,  being  the  only  man  at  Elysium 
Centre  who  would  do  a  day's  work  for  other 
people,  he  had  about  four  times  as  much  as  he 
could  accomplish.  Consequently  the  Spinster 
found  that,  after  he  had  come  over  with  the 
exuberant  Tom  and  ploughed  up  the  garden 
spots,  it  would  be  necessary  to  find  another 


116  SPINSTER   FARM 

helper  if  she  would  get  her  seeds  in  before  July. 
This  important  adjunct  to  their  establishment 
they  found  in  a  neighbouring  village.  His 
conversation,  which  was  fluent  and  would-be 
instructive,  led  them  to  think  him  as  capable 
as  he  supposed  himself  to  be,  and  he  was  en- 
gaged for  the  munificent  salary  of  a  dollar  a 
day  to  take  care  of  the  gardens.  By  a  curious 
coincidence,  the  new  man's  name,  "  Carrotts," 
matched  his  head,  which  was  red  and  tapered 
off  at  the  top.  Curiously,  too,  he  had  a  fondness 
for  bright-green  neckwear,  reminding  one, 
when  arrayed  in  his  favourite  attire,  of  an  in- 
verted carrot,  with  its  fringe  of  green  tops 
pendant. 

The  Spinster  sent  for  a  supply  of  seeds  of 
all  kinds  and  he  went  at  the  planting  with  a 
flourish  of  trumpets  and  a  tintinnabulation  of 
drums,  figuratively  speaking.  His  theories 
were  so  many  and  so  varied  that  the  Spinster 
felt  herself  incompetent  to  advise  so  gifted  an 


THE    GARDEN  117 

individual,  and  early  left  the  garden  to  his 
ministrations;  and  Peggy,  although  she  stuck 
bravely  by  her  flowers,  doing  most  of  the  work 
alone,  soon  deserted  him,  confident  that  Carrotts 
knew  all  about  gardening.  When  he  had  the 
plat  laid  out,  it  represented  the  most  conglom- 
erate geometrical  intricacies  ever  dreamed  of. 
But  he  assured  them  that  every  vegetable  was 
in  its  proper  place  and  rapidly  germinating  in 
the  brown  soil.  This  was  partially  true,  but 
when  they  finally  pushed  through  the  brown 
earth  they  manifested  a  strange  perversity  to 
come  up  in  bunches  and  huddle  together  as 
if  afraid  of  the  strange  world  around  them. 
Beets  and  parsnips  grew  a  hundred  to  the 
square  inch.  Beans  came  up  forty  and  fifty 
in  a  hill,  but  the  sweet  corn  went  to  the  other 
extreme  and  appeared  with  only  one  stalk  in 
several  hills. 

The  Spinster  had  given  Carrotts  some  sweet 
pumpkin  seeds  and  told  him  to  plant  one  in 


118  SPINSTER   FARM 

every  fifth  hill  of  corn,  after  the  good  old-fash- 
ioned way  of  her  forefathers.  In  his  lofty 
manner  he  intimated  that  in  giving  him  instruc- 
tions about  planting  pumpkins  one  was  con- 
veying quite  superfluous  coals  to  Newcastle. 
When  the  seeds  came  up  weeks  afterward 
there  were  seven  pumpkins  to  every  hill,  with 
one  solitary  stalk  of  corn  in  every  fifth. 

It  is  doubtful  if  ever  weeds  grew  as  did  those 
of  the  first  Summer  at  Spinster  Farm.  In  vain 
Carrotts  strove  against  them.  He  spent  much 
time  in  pensively  leaning  on  his  hoe  and  gazing 
sadly  at  them,  as  they  flaunted  defiance  in  the 
sunshine.  He  even  courted  apoplexy  by  stoop- 
ing over  the  crowded  beet  bed  and  pulling  out 
by  the  handful  young  beets  with  the  attendant 
weeds.  Some  Nemesis  hovered  over  him  and 
caused  seven  more  baneful  weeds  to  spring 
up  in  the  place  of  every  one  he  pulled,  and  by 
the  Fourth  of  July,  when  they  had  hoped  to 
be  revelling  in  green  peas,  the  garden  presented 


THE    GARDEN  119 

a  waving  picture  of  wild  mustard,  "  pusley," 
pigweed  and  ragweed  most  discouraging  to 
behold.  It  was  then  that  the  Spinster  told 
Carrotts  that  they  must  part  company,  a  piece 
of  news  that  caused  him  to  weep  great  tears, 
inasmuch  as  he  had  taken  occasion  to  fall  deeply 
in  love  with  the  serving-maid.  It  is  not  profit- 
able, to  the  mistress  at  least,  to  have  one's 
man  servant  fall  in  love  with  one's  maid 
servant.  Too  much  time  is  consumed  in  gazing 
into  one  another's  eyes. 

When  Carrotts  had  departed,  literally  wiping 
his  weeping  eyes,  for  the  maid  had  refused  to 
receive  him  as  her  "  company,"  the  Spinster  sent 
for  Hiram  again  and  implored  him  to  do  some- 
thing with  the  garden.  Whereupon  he  imme- 
diately went  for  the  festive  Tom  and  his  cultiva- 
tor. When  he  returned  and  began  work  in  the 
garden  of  weeds,  Peggy,  the  Spinster  and  Mrs. 
Francis  were  seated  in  the  Summer-house, 
calmly  enjoying  the  quiet  afternoon.  Hiram's 


120  SPINSTER   FARM 

forcible  remarks  to  his  horse  were  all-per- 
vading : 

"  Come,  now,  Tom ;  why  don't  ye  show 
a  leetle  more  gumption  about  gittin'  around 
these  hills?  Don't  seem  as  if  you  improved 
the  brains  Natur'  furnished,  Git  along,  there. 
Jiminy-Crimus !  " 

But  after  taking  half  a  dozen  turns  across  the 
garden  and  back,  he  stopped  and  came  toward 
the  Summer-house. 

"  By  gee,  Miss  Fleming,"  he  cried,  hat  in 
hand  and  mopping  his  wide  brow,  "  this  is  by 
far  the  most  complicated  agricultural  problem 
I  ever  yet  encountered.  Guess  we'll  have  to 
give  it  up.  I'll  go  home  and  get  my  scythe. 
Them  weeds'll  have  to  be  mowed  down  and 
burnt  up.  An'  by  gum !  I'd  like  to  burn  that 
Carrotts  with  'em.  If  he  ain't  the  derndest ! 
Wai!  But  there,  I  hadn't  ought  to  speak  out 
my  mind  quite  so  plain.  Still,  if  everybody 
thought  twice  before  speaking  once  there'd 


THE    GARDEN  121 

be  a  dreadful  oppressive  silence  most  of  the 
time."  And  he  meandered  on,  driving  the 
sobered  and  lazy  Tom  toward  home,  and 
chewing  reflectively  on  a  red-clover  blos- 
som. 

The  flower-garden  in  the  meantime  had 
flourished  beautifully  under  Peggy's  tender 
care.  And  she  had  the  pleasure  of  sending 
many  a  bunch  of  sweet  peas,  mignonette  and 
nasturtium  to  the  city,  often  remembering  the 
children's  hospital  in  which  she  was  most 
interested. 

In  laurel  time  she  drove  for  miles  through 
the  enchanting  woods,  gathering  bushels  of 
this  most  beautiful  of  wild-flowers,  and  many 
a  hospital  bed  was  brightened  by  the  bunches 
of  lovely  pink  blossoms  which  had  been  picked 
by  her  well-browned,  shapely  hands. 

But  after  all,  there  are  few  delights  com- 
parable to  owning  and  managing  a  garden. 
And  the  Spinster  wrote  to  her  friends,  after 


122  SPINSTER   FARM 

a  few  seasons  of  such  experiences :  "  I've  been 
abroad,  I've  been  in  love  and  I've  undergone 
a  serious  operation,  but  after  all  I  get  the  most 
satisfaction  out  of  a  garden !  " 


CHAPTER  X 

A  BRIEF  FOR  THE  HEN 

DID  you  ever  study  a  hen?  No?  Then,  if 
your  knowledge  of  them  is  confined  to  an 
occasional  view  of  frantic  bipeds  running 
madly  across  some  country  road  diiectly  under 
the  horse's  feet,  you  will  agree  with  the  Spinster's 
first  —  and  rash  —  statement  that  they  are  the 
most  stupid  of  animate  objects.  That  was 
before  she  began  to  get  acquainted  with  Peggy's 
flock.  The  younger  woman  adored  the  hens 
from  the  first,  and  soon  came  to  be  on  intimate 
terms  with  them,  so  to  speak,  with  a  name  for 
every  one.  But  the  Spinster  looked  upon 
them  with  indifference. 

"  You  must  not  ask  me  to  take  the  least 

123 


124  SPINSTER   FARM 

interest  in  the  creatures,"  she  told  Peggy.  "  I 
do  not  believe  there  is  the  smallest  sign  of 
anything  that  could  be  termed  brain  under 
their  foolish-looking  skulls."  Whereupon  Peggy 
would  retort: 

"  Oh,  Auntie !  That  shows  how  little  you 
know  about  them.  Why,  half  of  them  know 
their  names  already." 

And  the  Spinster  would  smile  indulgently, 
as  upon  the  vagaries  of  a  child.  But  there  came 
a  time  when  Peggy  went  away  to  make  some 
visits,  leaving  her  beloved  flock  in  the  Spinster's 
care.  "  Don't  trust  them  to  anybody  else," 
was  her  parting  advice.  "  They  must  be  fed 
at  six  every  morning  and  let  out.  The  chickens 
must  be  fed  five  times  a  day;  and  be  sure 
you  look  after  the  Quaker  Lady,  who  will  be 
hatching  her  brood  by  Friday  morning." 

Then  began  the  Spinster's  interest  in  the  hen. 
The  flock  soon  learned  that  they  must  look 
to  her  for  supplies,  and  having  found  this  out, 


A   BRIEF   FOR   THE   HEN      125 

swarmed  around  her  at  all  hours,  whenever 
she  ventured  to  step  out  of  the  back  door. 
In  a  fortnight's  time  she  could  not  go  anywhere 
without  a  score  or  more  of  the  feathered  tribe 
around,  behind  and  in  front  of  her. 

"  Hens  to  the  right  of  her, 
Hens  to  the  left  of  her, 
Hens  to  the  back  of  her 
Clucked  and  cackled," 

she  parodied. 

"  Really,"  she  wrote  Peggy,  "  they  are  won- 
derful creatures.  They  remind  me  of  types 
of  women  whom  I  know.  There  is  the  little 
white  hen  which  you  set  before  you  went. 
Does  she  not  fluff  her  feathers  and  bristle  at 
you  exactly  like  that  little  Mrs.  Grey,  who  is 
so  active  in  the  Woman's  Club?  And  your 
'  Elsie  '  -  she  acts  just  like  a  certain  D.  A.  R., 
who  is  always  bustling  about  on  some  important 
errand  that  amounts  to  nothing.  Then  there 
is  the  hen  that  hatched  her  brood  in  the  wood- 


126  SPINSTER   FARM 

shed.  Isn't  she  a  perfect  reproduction  of  the 
anxious  mother  who  wears  herself  to  a  frazzle 
taking  care  of  her  large  and  rapidly  increasing 
family  ?  I  say  '  rapidly  increasing  '  advisedly, 
for  she  adopts  the  other  chickens  as  fast  as  they 
are  weaned  by  their  own  mothers,  until  she  now 
tries  to  spread  her  wings  over  thirty-five  chickens 
of  various  sizes  at  night.  And  she  has  so  much 
trouble  in  getting  them  all  fed  and  put  to  bed 
in  her  old  barrel  that  she  barely  gets  enough 
to  eat  herself.  Poor  thing !  Like  most  mothers 
who  sacrifice  themselves  so  utterly  for  their 
offspring,  she  gets  no  thanks  for  it,  and  I  suppose 
is  looked  upon  by  the  growing  brood  as  a  sort 
of  mechanical  drudging  machine  designed  by 
a  kind  Providence  for  their  special  benefit. 
At  any  rate,  I  have  seen  large  families  of  children 
who  repaid  their  overtaxed  mothers  for  self- 
immolation  in  this  way.  Your  Sir  Chanticleer, 
too,  isn't  he  a  miniature  of  the  Reverend  Dr. 
Whitcher,  with  his  flowing  side-whiskers  and  his 


A   BRIEF   FOR   THE   HEN      127 

'  I-am-the-leader-of-as-fine-a-flock  -  of  -  women- 
as-the-world-will-often-see  '  air  ?  The  White 
Guineas,  with  their  eternal  'you-clack,  you-clack, 
you-clack,'  belong  to  another  type,  the  shallow- 
pated  gossipping  kind,  of  which,  alas !  we  may 
find  an  example  right  in  our  own  family  circle. 
(Now,  don't  show  this  to  Aunt  Amelia.)  The 
little  chickens  which  Rhoda  hatched  the  Friday 
night  after  you  left  are  the  dearest  things  you 
ever  saw.  There  are  only  two.  I  have  named 
them  Romeo  and  Henny- Penny." 

These  two  became  the  Spinster's  pride. 
Like  the  young  Israelitish  king,  they  "  waxed 
fat  and  kicked."  They  always  seemed  to  dis- 
tinguish between  the  Spinster  and  other  humans, 
and  went  on  the  motto,  "  wheresoever  thou 
shalt  go,  there  we  will  go  also,"  keeping  close 
to  her  heels  wherever  on  the  farm  she  might 
happen  to  be.  Henny-Penny  was  a  talkative 
bird,  and  kept  up  a  continual  chatter  — a  low 
"  bur-r-r-r,"  whenever  any  human  spoke  to 


128  SPINSTER   FARM 

her.  Even  after  cold  weather  came  and  she 
was  confined  within  the  hen-house,  the  Spinster 
would  hear  her  as  she  passed  their  quarters, 
as  if  in  response  to  her  own  voice,  "  Bur-r-r." 
Henny-Penny  was  truly  a  remarkable  hen, 
attending  to  the  business  for  which  nature 
designed  her  most  assiduously.  She  began 
when  she  was  five  months  old,  and  laid  eggs 
for  six  months,  with  that  zeal  most  becoming 
to  the  advanced  hen;  a  trait  which  often  sug- 
gested to  the  Spinster  certain  women  of  her 
acquaintance  who  follow  good  works  with 
such  single-minded  devotion  that  one  some- 
times wonders  if  the  world  could,  indeed,  be 
run  without  them.  When  the  time  came  that 
she  decided  it  to  be  her  duty  to  hatch  out  a  brood 
of  chickens,  she  went  at  it  with  the  same  thor- 
oughness and  talkativeness  that  characterized 
her  every  act.  She  was  brought  out  of  egg- 
hood,  herself,  on  the  Fourth  of  July,  and  on 
the  next  birthday  of  our  country  she  brought 


A   BRIEF    FOR   THE    HEN      129 

off  the  nest  a  brood  of  ten  little  fluffs,  which 
she  mothered  according  to  the  best  hen-methods 
for  about  six  weeks.  She  would  be  confined 
in  no  coop;  it  was  not  hygienic;  she  belonged 
to  the  type  of  femininity  which  still  believes 
in  good  old-fashioned  ways,  improved  by  modern 
thought  and  learning.  Every  day  she  assembled 
her  little  flock  around  her  and  marshalled 
them  forth  in  anxious  solicitude,  just  as  the 
fussy  human  mother  sometimes  takes  her  young 
brood  out  for  an  airing.  In  her  early  pullet- 
hood  Henny-Penny  had  been  a  handsome, 
shapely,  barred  Plymouth  Rock.  But  mother- 
hood wore  on  her,  and  she  returned  from  her 
daily  walks  abroad,  bringing  all  her  sheaves 
with  her,  but  bedraggled  and  worn,  as  if,  some- 
how, the  world  were  disillusioned. 

At  last  there  came  a  day  when  she  brought 
back  one  too  few.  A  wandering  hawk  had 
carried  off  the  other  before  her  very  eyes.  It 
was  too  much  for  Henny-Penny.  She  took 


130  SPINSTER   FARM 

her  chickens  into  the  hen-house  and  left  them 
there.  Like  some  reformers,  she  had  started 
out  with  the  noblest  intentions  of  showing 
a  backward  and  slipshod  generation  exactly 
how  things  should  be  done.  But  when  her 
plans  went  agley,  and  one  of  her  brood,  upon 
which  so  much  of  anxious  care  had  been  ex- 
pended, showed  such  a  lack  of  sense  as  to  be- 
come a  prey  to  the  rapacious  hawk,  she  would 
have  no  more  of  motherhood.  She  went  on  to 
the  general  perch  beside  Romeo  that  very  night. 
No  more  did  the  Spinster  behold  her  gather 
up  her  petticoats  and  trail  off  down  the  road, 
scolding  and  fluttering.  She  went  back  to  egg- 
laying  and  followed  it  with  all  her  old-time 
ardour,  as  some  women  try  marriage  for  a  time 
and  then  give  it  up  in  despair,  turning  back 
gladly  to  old  occupations,  sadder  but  wiser 
women  for  their  psychological  experiments 
outside  their  familiar  routines.  Henny-Penny 
adopted  one  of  the  white  guineas,  keeping  it 


A   BRIEF   FOR   THE   HEN      131 

close  to  her  day  and  night.  She  laid  eggs  in 
emulation  of  the  famous  biped  of  old  Grimes,  — 
"  Every  day  she  laid  an  egg,  and  Sundays  she 
kid  two."  But  never  again,  in  a  long  and  useful 
life,  did  she  attempt  to  raise  a  family. 

Then  there  was  Chicken  Little,  whose  career 
was  even  more  unusual.  The  first  flock  of 
Peggy's  chickens  was  a  large  one,  which  thrived 
and  grew  apace,  stuffing  themselves  and  being 
stuffed  with  meal  and  corn  and  bugs  and  nice 
fat  worms  from  the  rose-garden  until  they  were 
as  big  as  their  mothers.  But  there  was  one  tiny, 
downy  little  one,  continually  crowded  away 
from  the  feeding-dish  by  his  more  lusty  brothers 
and  sisters,  He  did  not  grow.  At  three  months 
he  was  little  bigger  than  when  he  first  made 
his  appearance  in  the  nest. 

"  Better  wring  his  neck,"  advised  Hiram. 
"  Won't  amount  to  nothinV 

But  Peggy  began  a  judicious  course  of  "  home 
treatment."  She  fed  him  from  her  hand,  and 


132  SPINSTER   FARM 

carried  him  about  tucked  into  her  sweater 
or  shirt-waist  front,  presenting  a  striking  ap- 
pearance, indeed,  with  the  tiny  head,  all  eyes 
and  beak,  thrust  out  of  any  convenient  opening, 
as  they  went  together  about  the  house  and 
grounds.  Soon  Peggy  was  rewarded  by  the 
first  sign  of  feathers  on  the  chicken's  wings 
and  short  apology  for  a  tail.  Then  came  a 
ruffle  of  pin-feathers  under  his  body  and  over 
his  back.  After  a  little  he  began  to  grow,  and 
developed  an  abnormally  large  crop,  which 
he  managed  to  keep  distended  to  the  utmost 
limit.  Perfectly  tame,  he  went  in  and  out  of 
the  house,  up  stairs  and  down,  in  search  of  his 
benefactress;  if  a  sudden  shower  threatened, 
Chicken  Little  came  to  the  side  porch  and 
demanded  to  be  let  in,  remaining  quietly  inside 
until  the  rain  had  ceased,  when  he  would  go 
forth  again. 

When  cold  weather  arrived,  Chicken  Little 
was  obliged  to  live  in  the  hen-house,  where 


A   BRIEF   FOR   THE   HEN       133 

he  seemed  as  contented  as  he  was  dry  and  warm. 
Indeed,  he  possessed  the  faculty  of  effacing 
himself  so  completely  that  for  weeks  Peggy 
herself  could  not  distinguish  him  from  several 
of  Henny-Penny's  unfortunate  brood,  which  had 
been  sadly  stunted  by  their  mother's  neglect. 
Sometimes  she  would  carry  them  into  the  kitchen 
and  decide  whether  or  not  the  one  she  held  was 
Chicken  Little  by  the  way  it  acted  when  crumbs 
of  bread  were  put  on  the  floor.  If  Chicken 
Little  was  hungry,  even  in  the  hen-house,  he 
would  come  forward  and  allow  Peggy  to  pick 
him  up;  but  it  was  impossible  to  know,  when 
he  dropped  that  perky  tail  and  laid  aside  the 
proud  carriage  of  his  small  head,  which  was 
Chicken  Little.  His  sex  remained  in  doubt 
for  months;  but  there  came  a  day  when  he 
wanted  to  lay  eggs.  And  then  "  he  "  showed 
"his"  superior  education.  Should  he  deposit 
his  eggs  in  a  common  nest  with  other  hens, 
there  to  be  gathered  and  carried  off  like  any 


134  SPINSTER   FARM 

common  product  of  any  every-day  hen?  Not 
he  !  Although  deep  snow  lay  on  the  ground,  he 
picked  his  way  carefully  to  the  back  door  and 
demanded  entrance,  for  the  first  time  in  months. 
Delighted,  they  opened  the  door.  Chicken 
Little  walked  in  as  if  he  had  never  been  absent 
for  a  day,  travelled  over  the  familiar  kitchen 
and  on  into  the  living-room,  looking  for  crumbs 
in  all  the  places  where  he  had  formerly  picked 
them  up.  Then  he  climbed  the  winding  stair- 
way in  the  front  entry  and  betook  himself  to 
the  Spinster's  own  room,  hiding  in  the  cat- 
basket  which  stood  beside  the  fireplace.  And 
there  Chicken  Little  achieved  his  first  egg. 
Every  day  for  weeks  he  came  in  and  went 
through  the  same  programme.  If  the  door  into 
the  Spinster's  room  happened  to  be  closed, 
he  would  demand  entrance  vociferously,  walking 
in  as  soon  as  it  was  unlatched  and  cuddling 
into  the  basket  with  the  low,  crooning  noise  by 
which  the  mother-hen  quiets  her  chicks  at  night. 


A   BRIEF   FOR   THE   HEN       135 

But  it  was  impossible-  for  them  to  get  accus- 
tomed to  speak  of  the  hen  as  anything  but "  he ; " 
and  "  he  "  and  "  his  "  chickens  they  remained 
to  the  end  of  the  chapter. 

Chicken  Little's  eggs  were  saved  as  being  too 
precious  for  ordinary  purposes,  and  when  she 
finally  showed  a  willingness,  nay,  a  determi- 
nation, to  "  sit,"  and  settled  herself  in  the  cat- 
basket  firmly  and  squarely  for  that  purpose, 
a  baker's  dozen  of  her  own  eggs  were  put  under 
her.  A  prouder  biped  was  never  seen  than 
she,  when  she  brought  off  four  wee,  soft  chicks ; 
but  her  feelings  were  outraged  when  Peggy 
shut  her  up  in  a  coop  to  raise  her  family.  She 
saw  no  reason  why  she  might  not  bring  them 
into  the  house,  where  they  could  be  given  the 
advantages  of  such  an  early  training  as  she  had 
had  herself.  And  she,  too,  abandoned  them 
at  a  tender  age,  furnishing  another  striking 
proof  that  education  unfits  her  sex  for  mother- 
hood. 


136  SPINSTER   FARM 

Like  other  cultured  and  delicate  persons  of 
her  sex,  Chicken  Little  was  more  subject  to 
physical  ailments  than  the  common  flock 
of  plebeians.  There  was  one  hot  summer  day, 
in  particular,  when  she  made  a  social  call  on  the 
cook  and  gobbled  —  yes,  I  fear  gobbled  is  the 
word  —  too  much  raw  pie-crust.  Peggy  found 
her  going  round  in  a  circle,  plainly  suffering 
from  vertigo.  Sometimes  hens  die  of  such 
attacks,  but  Chicken  Little  was  not  to  hie  her- 
self to  the  mysterious  bourne  if  stringent 
measures  could  save  her.  Peggy  picked  her  up 
and  hastened  to  the  kitchen,  where  she  stood 
the  hen  in  a  basin  of  hot  water  and  applied  cold 
water  to  her  head  until  the  feathered  lady  was 
relieved.  A  dose  of  castor  oil  and  a  cool  spot 
under  the  rose-bushes  restored  her  once  more 
to  health  and  egg-laying.  And  many  a  hot 
day  after  that  would  see  Chicken  Little  come 
panting  with  heat  to  the  back  door,  when  Peggy 
would  stand  her  in  a  dish  of  cold  water,  and 


A   BRIEF   FOR   THE   HEN      137 

ladle  aqua  pura  freely  over  her  head  and  under 
her  wings ;  Chicken  Little  submitting  patiently 
to  the  process  and  finally  departing  with  her 
contented  "  chuck,  chuck,  chuck,"  apparently 
as  much  refreshed  as  we  are  when  we  leave 
the  Turkish  bath  palace. 

There  is  another  side  to  it.  As  long  as  the 
dear  little  chickens  remained  soft  and  fluffy, 
eating  from  the  hand  and  growing  up  as  tame 
as  kittens,  they  were  a  source  of  never-ending 
delight.  But  the  normal  end  of  most  of  the 
young  cockerels  is  the  dinner-pot.  How  could 
they  kill  and  eat  creatures  so  tame  and  trusting  ? 

"  Never !  "  said  the  Spinster.  "  I  would 
not  be  so  heartless."  At  first  they  tried  keeping 
them  all,  the  soft  hearts  of  the  women  not  per- 
mitting the  chickens  even  to  be  bartered  for 
gain.  But  when  the  cold  weather  came  they 
found  it  impossible  to  keep  forty  or  fifty  young 
cockerels  for  pets;  besides,  when  the  birds 
were  shut  up  in  close  quarters,  they  showed 


138  SPINSTER   FARM 

a  belligerent  disposition  and  fought  and  "  tore 
each  other's  eyes "  in  accordance  with  the 
highly  moral  verse  about  "  dogs  delight." 
It  ceased  then  to  be  a  pleasure  to  keep  such 
birds ;  still,  —  eat  them  ?  Never. 

Then  they  tried  selling  them.  A  market- 
man  who  came  around  their  way  twice  a  week 
agreed  to  take  them  two  at  a  time,  and  the 
Spinster  was  to  take  her  pay  in  meat.  This 
plan  worked  well;  they  could  now  eat  chicken 
whenever  they  felt  inclined,  without  doing 
violence  to  their  consciences  or  sympathies. 
And  so  tender  and  juicy  were  the  fresh-killed 
chickens  which  they  bought  that  they  ordered 
them  frequently. 

"  I  think  you  sell  good  meat  at  all  times," 
said  the  Spinster  one  day,  after  she  had  sold 
the  last  of  her  cockerels.  "  But  your  chickens 
are  especially  good.  That  last  one  I  bought 
of  you  was  the  best  I  ever  tasted.  Who  raised 
it?" 


A   BRIEF   FOR  THE   HEN       139 

"  Well,"  the  man  answered,  coolly,  "  since 
you've  sold  'em  all,  I  may  as  well  tell  you  them 
were  your  birds,  ma'am." 

"  And  I've  been  eating  my  own  birds  all  this 
time?  "  the  Spinster  asked  in  horror. 

"  Well,  yes,"  said  the  unblushing  butcher. 
"  You  see  you  always  want  the  best  regardless 
of  price ;  and  they  couldn't  any  the  rest  of  'em 
touch  your  birds  for  plumpness  and  tenderness." 

The  Spinster  turned  and  walked  sadly  into 
the  house.  She  had  sold  her  birds  to  this  man 
and  bought  them  back  at  a  much  higher  price. 
There  was  no  denying  that ;  but  she  said  nothing 
to  anybody  until  the  following  year.  Then  she 
announced  that  they  would  kill  and  eat  their 
own  chickens. 

"  For  one  thing,  it  is  their  obvious  destiny 
to  be  killed  and  eaten.  Again,  we  have  to  eat. 
And  finally  I  have  decided  to  eat  birds  that 
have  been  fed  properly,  killed  mercifully  and 
kept  hygienically  until  they  reach  the  pot. 


140  SPINSTER   FARM 

A  merciful  woman  is  merciful  to  herself  as  well 
as  to  her  beasts." 

The  hen  is  a  much  maligned  bird.  Few 
people  realize  the  true  worth  of  this  industrious 
creature  —  but  the  American  hen  contributes 
no  small  part  of  the  wealth  of  our  industrial 
population.  The  last  census  showed  that  there 
were  then  233,598,005  chickens  in  the  United 
States  of  laying  age  and  propensities,  valued 
at  $70,000,000,  and  that  they  laid  42,500,000 
eggs  a  day,  and  in  the  course  of  a  year  more  than 
a  billion  and  a  quarter  dozen  eggs.  When  a 
kind  paternal  government  shall  have  perfected 
its  contemplated  reform  in  the  habits  of  the 
American  hen  she  will  be  an  even  greater  factor 
in  our  economic  industries.  Certain  dignitaries 
in  the  Agricultural  Bureau  have  been  experi- 
menting for  some  time  past  and  now  announce 
to  an  eager  and  egg-devouring  people  that  a  hen 
comes  into  the  world  with  the  capacity  to  lay 
about  650  eggs,  more  or  less.  Some  hens  hurry 


A   BRIEF  FOR   THE   HEN       141 

to  fulfil  their  destiny  and  are  correspondingly 
useful  appendages  of  society,  while  others 
dawdle  about  their  business  as  if  they  realize 
that  they  have  but  one  life  to  live  and  mean  to 
take  their  time  about  that.  But  the  new  hen 
is  to  be  educated  up  to  laying  her  650  eggs  in 
two  years.  More  than  that,  Uncle  Sam  is 
going  to  teach  her  to  increase  the  size  of  her  eggs 
and  make  them  of  uniform  weight  and  colour. 
The  egg  situation  seems  to  be  somewhat  com- 
plicated. Some  hens  lay  large  eggs,  and  some 
lay  small  ones;  some  lay  a  large  egg  every 
day  and  a  small  one  the  next;  some  hens 
lay  only  once  in  two  or  three  days  with  frequent 
long  vacations;  sometimes  the  smallest  hen 
lays  the  largest  egg;  some  hens  lay  white  eggs 
and  some  lay  brown  ones;  and  most  hens  are 
eager  to  lay  plentifully  during  the  summer,  when 
eggs  are  cheap,  but  utterly  refuse  to  lay  at  all 
in  winter,  when  their  product  commands  the 
highest  price.  But  the  Bureau  of  Agriculture 


142  SPINSTER    FARM 

promises  to  remedy  all  this,  and  that  the  model 
hen  of  the  future  shall  not  fail  to  give  us  an  egg 
of  exactly  the  desired  weight  and  colour,  every 
day  throughout  the  year.  A  little  education, 
here,  will  not  be  a  dangerous  thing.  After 
this  important  work  is  completed,  we  have 
only  to  placard  our  hen-houses  thus: 

"  NOTICE.  All  hens  laying  in  these  nests 
must  deposit  eggs  weighing  not  less  than  two 
and  one-half  ounces  and  of  a  deep,  coffee  tint. 

"  Failure  to  obey  this  rule,  or  to  deposit  at 
least  one  egg  a  day  365  days  in  every  year 
(leap  year  excepted),  will  be  punished  with  the 
dinner-pot." 

Yes.  People  who  do  not  understand  nor 
respect  the  hen  may  assert  that  she  is  vain  and 
frivolous,  that  she  cackles  too  vociferously  over 
what  few  eggs  she  does  lay,  that  she  is  obstinate 
and  that  she  persists  in  sitting  when  she  ought 
to  be  laying.  They  may  denounce  her  as  a 


A   BRIEF   FOR   THE   HEN       143 

fussy  mother  who  should  be  supplanted  by 
patent  brooders,  or  as  the  irresponsible  heroine 
of  that  foolish  conundrum,  "  Why  is  a  hen?  " 
But  even  as  things  are  now,  the  great  American 
hen  is  worthy  of  all  honour.  Why,  old  Spain 
never  had  galleons  enough  to  carry  the  annual 
worth  of  the  American  hen's  product. 

Still,  the  average  woman  deems  it  no  less 
than  an  insult  to  be  called  a  "  hen  "  or  to  have 
her  public  gatherings  styled  "  hen-conventions." 

"  For  my  part,"  was  the  Spinster's  con- 
clusion, "  I  consider  it  a  compliment  to  be 
compared  or  likened  to  an  industrious,  home- 
loving  hen,  who  has  a  distinct  place  in  the 
economy  of  nations  and  is  apparently  proud 
to  fill  it." 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  SPINSTER  TO  THE  PROFESSOR 

"  WHAT  do  you  do  with  yourself  out  there 
in  the  country?  "  you  ask,  wrote  the  Spinster 
to  the  Professor.  "  How  do  you  manage  to 
pass  your  time?  "  As  if  there  were  a  chance 
for  a  dull  moment.  Why,  we  get  up  at  six  in 
the  morning  and  do  not  find  the  days  long 
enough  for  all  we  want  to  do  —  no,  not  half 
long  enough.  Every  night  we  have  to  say  to 
ourselves,  "  We  shall  have  to  put  that  off  till 
to-morrow  or  the  next  day;  I  haven't  had  a 
moment's  time  for  it  to-day." 

Take  it  one  of  these  July  days,  for  instance. 
You  have  to  rise  at  six;  the  sun  has  been  up 
a  long  time  and  streaming  across  the  east 

144 


SPINSTER   TO   THE    PROFESSOR  145 

chamber  floor;  the  birds  have  been  singing 
for  hours;  teams  clatter  by;  the  oriole  close 
to  your  window  calls  to  you  in  bell-tones  to 
come  out  and  see  the  world  at  its  loveliest.  And 
as  you  went  to  bed  at  nine  the  night  before  and 
have  had  nearly  nine  hours  of  sleep,  you  are 
rested  and  glad  to  greet  the  new  day.  There 
is  none  of  that  tired  feeling  (the  advertisement 
was  written  for  dwellers  in  cities).  You  hurry 
with  your  matutinal  preparations  and  into  your 
old  and  easy  clothes  and  get  down-stairs  in  time 
to  go  out  for  a  stroll  about  the  place  before 
breakfast.  The  hens  come  running  to  meet 
you,  shameless  creatures,  pretending  they  have 
had  nothing  to  eat  since  they  can  remember, 
although  you  know  it  isn't  half  an  hour  since 
they  devoured  several  quarts  of  cracked  corn 
or  some  other  grain  for  which  you  have  yielded 
up  your  spondulix.  The  little  chickens  are 
trying  frantically  to  get  out  of  their  coops,  and 
you  step  into  their  corral  and  open  their  doors 


146  SPINSTER   FARM 

just  to  see  them  rush  out,  tumbling  over  one 
another  in  their  crazy  eagerness.  My  chickens 
are  so  tame  they  can  be  picked  up  anywhere, 
and  will  stand  at  your  feet  and  wait  for  you  to 
cuddle  them.  They  are  at  the  homely  age  now, 
all  legs  and  neck  and  pin-feathers;  but  how 
can  one  help  liking  them,  when  they  show  such 
excellent  taste  in  selecting  you  for  guardian  and 
friend?  It  is  a  foolhardy  thing  to  make  such 
pets  of  them,  but  I  do  it.  Often  I  have  envied 
Mrs.  Wiggin's  Goose  Girl,  who  could  look 
calmly  upon  her  feathered  flock  as  "  broilers;  " 
but,  alas,  I  have  Peter  and  Speckie  and 
Squeedles  and  Chicken  Little  and  so  on  through 
the  list  of  diminutives;  and  when  cold  weather 
comes  I  shall  find  myself  with  a  lot  of  "  crowers  " 
on  my  hands  which  I  cannot  bring  myself 
to  eat  nor  sell;  and  who  wants  fifty  young 
roosters  for  pets?  Still,  as  I  have  intimated, 
I  am  intimate  with  the  erratic  little  creatures 
and  storing  up  trouble  for  next  fall;  but  just 


SPINSTER    TO    THE    PROFESSOR  147 

the  same,  they  take  a  precious  lot  of  time 
before  breakfast,  what  with  being  fed  and 
watered  and  petted  and  having  worms  dug 
for  them. 

And  then  there  is  the  Good  Thing;  she 
must  be  seen  a  minute  before  breakfast.  Her 
head  is  stretched  toward  the  open  door  as 
she  sees  you  in  the  yard,  and  an  impatient 
whinny  tells  that  she  wants  her  morning  greeting. 
She  has  a  big,  roomy  box  stall  and  very  little 
to  do,  but  she  is  not  happy  if  we  leave  her  there 
alone  too  long;  and  especially  in  the  morning, 
she  has  a  welcome  for  us.  Her  velvet  nose 
comes  out  and  is  rubbed  against  your  cheek, 
her  head,  perhaps  (if  she  is  very  fond  of  you), 
drops  over  your  shoulder,  lower  and  lower, 
until  you  remember  the  old  problem,  "  Which 
is  longer,  a  horse's  head  or  a  flour- barrel  ?" 
and  you  decide  that  the  horse's  head  is  heavier, 
anyhow.  And  then  she  heaves  such  a  sigh  of 
satisfaction  that  you  put  your  arms  around 


148  SPINSTER   FARM 

her  strong,  smooth  neck  and  tell  her  "  How 
lo-o-vely  she  is !  " 

But  after  awhile,  you  have  seen  them  all, 
including  the  great  cats  and  the  omnipresent 
collie  pup,  and  manage  to  get  into  the  house 
to  breakfast.  From  the  dining-room  windows 
you  see  the  blossoms  of  trees,  lilacs,  horse- 
chestnut  and  shrubbery ;  the  scent  of  many 
flowers  and  of  the  growing  things  outside  floats 
in  and  makes  the  morning  an  enchanted  hour, 
and  you  are  glad  to  be  alive,  and  that  you  live 
in  the  country. 

Then,  having  finished  your  coffee,  the  day 
fairly  begins.  More  things  out-of-doors  must 
be  seen  to;  gardens  have  to  be  made,  things 
transplanted,  the  roses  treated  with  kerosene 
emulsion,  the  currant-bushes  given  their  helle- 
bore, the  rose-garden  cultivated,  the  sitting  hens 
fed,  the  Good  Thing  to  be  led  from  her  stall 
to  the  beautiful  paddock  which  takes  in  half 
the  orchard,  and  where  she  can  nibble  the  short 


SPINSTER    TO    THE    PROFESSOR  149 

sweet  grass  and  have  her  feet  on  the  cool  moist 
ground.  There  is  a  man  to  be  kept  at  work, 
perhaps  two  of  them.  And  the  "  R.  F.  D." 
arrives  at  half-past  nine.  You  have  been  up 
several  hours  and  done  a  lot  of  things,  and  are 
ready  now  to  sit  down  and  read  your  letters 
and  papers ;  but  ten  chances  to  one  you  haven't 
the  time  to  do  anything  more  than  glance  at 
them;  too  busy.  If  there  are  letters  to  be 
answered,  you  have  just  time  to  get  them  ready 
for  the  postman  before  he  comes  back  from  his 
route  and  returns  to  the  village. 

And  soon  it  is  noon.  The  afternoon  goes 
just  as  quickly,  and  although  you  have  solemnly 
promised  yourself  and  the  doctor  that  nothing 
shall  prevent  your  having  a  nice  nap  every  day 
after  lunch,  you  seldom  find  time  to  have  it. 
You  lie  down,  perhaps,  but  some  one  wants 
to  know  where  the  hammer  is,  or  what  to  do 
with  the  weeds  from  the  garden,  or  where  they 
shall  set  the  little  syringa-bush,  or  if  the  Good 


150  SPINSTER   FARM 

Thing  ought  not  to  be  taken  to  the  blacksmith, 
or  if  that  speckled  hen  isn't  bringing  off  her 
chickens  to-day,  or  where  the  pattern  for 
Peggy's  shirt-waist  is,  or  what  you  did  with 
the  Century,  or  where  they'll  find  the  furniture 
polish,  or  if  you  are  going  to  the  village,  and  if 
so,  may  they  go  too?  And  you  give  it  up  so 
many  times  that  you  finally  forget  that  after- 
noon naps  were  ever  thought  of.  There  is  a 
delightful  Summer-house  down  in  the  orchard, 
which  is  especially  inviting  in  the  afternoons, 
with  easy  chairs  to  sit  in  and  lovely  long  shadows 
to  watch  and  birds  to  see  and  hear,  and  soft, 
persuasive  winds  to  whisper  to  you;  but  so 
far  this  year  I  have  sat  down  there  just  once. 

For  years,  before  I  left  the  city,  I  saved  up 
books  to  read  when  I  should  realize  my  dream 
of  getting  out  into  the  country  some  day.  There 
are  several  hundred  of  them;  books  I  could 
never  get  time  to  look  into  in  town,  but  which 
I  was  going  to  have  such  a  good  time  with  in 


SPINSTER   TO   THE   PROFESSOR  151 

the  country  —  some  day,  some  day.  How 
many  of  them  have  I  read?  Let  me  whisper 
in  your  ear.  Not  one.  I  have  too  much  to  do, 
every  day  and  all  day.  And  the  first  thing  you 
know  after  breakfast  it  is  after  supper,  and  you 
are  sitting  on  the  piazza  watching  the  sun  go 
down  behind  the  apple-trees  that  make  such 
a  pretty  outline,  with  a  line  of  soft  light  under, 
against  the  western  sky;  just  such  a  picture 
as  you  have  seen  in  art  exhibitions  and  admired 
so  much. 

You  might  go  in,  when  the  dark  finally 
settles  down,  and  sit  by  the  evening  lamp  and 
read  one  of  those  books  now;  but  the  evening 
paper  is  there  (provided  somebody  has  been 
to  the  village),  and  then,  too,  you  are  so  sleepy 
and  tired  !  You  give  it  up.  To-morrow  night 
you  will  read.  To-night,  just  to-night,  you 
really  must  go  to  bed.  And  you  soon  sink  into 
hearty,  serene,  dreamless  sleep.  And  there 
are  ever  so  many  things  left  over  for  to-morrow. 


152  SPINSTER   FARM 

too.  You  haven't  accomplished  half  the  things 
you  set  out  to  do  this  morning.  And  to-morrow 
will  be  as  busy  a  day  as  this.  Yes;  but  you 
will  wake  refreshed  and  eager ;  and  you  wouldn't 
give  up  this  sort  of  life,  anyhow.  And  there  is 
time  enough.  The  rush  and  crowding  of  life 
as  it  comes  in  cities,  when  one  is  breathlessly 
behind  all  the  time,  does  not  enter  into  existence 
here.  There  is  enough  to  do,  but  there  is  time 
enough  to  do  it.  And  what  we  do  not  do  to-day 
can  be  done  to-morrow.  So  we  do  not  fret 
ourselves,  or  get  impatient.  We  just  go  on, 
living  a  full  life  every  moment,  time  flying, 
interest  increasing,  beauty  deepening;  but 
"dull"—  never. 

"What  do  we  do  when  it  rains?"  Well, 
in  the  first  place  we  follow  the  example  of  the 
Romans,  having  a  new  and  particular  interest 
in  the  rain.  In  the  town,  we  do  not  like  rain. 
It  interferes  with  our  going  out;  we  have  no 
excuse  for  rain  where  watering-carts  are  plenty. 


SPINSTER   TO   THE   PROFESSOR  153 

Rains  are  dull  and  dreary;  they  make  mud, 
and  we  do  not  like  mud;  they  wet  our  best 
bonnets  and  spoil  our  new  walking-shoes. 

But  v)ut  here,  we  have  open  fields  and  well- 
seeded  grounds;  we  have  gardens  and  thirsty 
plants,  to  say  nothing  of  dusty  roads ;  and  when 
God  sendeth  the  rain,  we  stay  indoors  and  love 
to  see  it  soak  into  the  grass  and  unfold  the  leaves 
and,  with  the  accompanying  wind,  shake  out 
the  tender  leaves.  "  The  gentle-dropping  rain  " 
is  heartily  welcome,  even  when  it  comes  in  an 
all-day  downpour  and  washes  out  gullies  in  the 
roadways. 

Besides,  there  are  plenty  of  things  to  do  when 
it  rains.  Outdoors  is  so  lovely  now  that  we  never 
stay  in  a  moment  longer  than  necessary  when 
the  sun  shines;  so  when  the  rain  makes  it 
imperative  to  keep  under  cover,  there  are  many 
odds  and  ends  of  things  to  be  done.  And  then 
there  is  a  big  old-fashioned  fireplace  and  plenty 
of  fine,  dry  wood,  with  the  necessary  "  chunk  " 


154  SPINSTER   FARM 

for  a  back-log.  Do  you  remember  the  discus- 
sion in  Mrs.  Stowe's  "  Old  Town  Folks " 
about  a  fireplace  fire?  How  the  old  people 
could  never  agree  about  the  placing  of  the 
middle  stick  and  the  fore-log?  Now  there  is  a 
right  and  a  wrong  way  to  build  a  fireplace  fire 
—  that  is,  if  you  want  to  sit  beside  it  in  a  rainy 
day  and  read  or  dream.  The  back-log  must 
not  be  too  big  and  it  must  be  big  enough.  It 
must  be  put  at  the  very  back  and  not  allowed 
to  project  itself  too  far  toward  the  front ;  and  the 
andirons  must  be  set  at  the  right  angle  beside  it. 
Some  (ignorant  persons)  will  even  set  the  back- 
log up  on  the  andirons,  well  out  of  the  ashes 
(where  it  cannot  and  will  not  burn).  And  some 
will  insist  on  having  all  the  ashes  from  a  former 
fire  removed.  That  is  not  the  right  way.  You 
must  leave  a  good  bed  of  ashes  for  the  back-log 
to  lie  in;  for  the  mission  of  back-logs  is,  not 
to  burn,  but  to  make  a  good  background  for  the 
fire  and  to  help  throw  the  heat  out  into  the  room. 


SPINSTER   TO   THE   PROFESSOR  155 

Then  the  andirons  must  be  put  close  up,  so  to 
hold  up  the  fire  that  is  to  be  built.  If  you 
happen  to  have  your  grandfather's  old  hand- 
wrought  iron  ones,  the  very  ones  he  went  to 
housekeeping  with,  why,  that  will  add  a  thrill 
of  possession  to  the  fire,  and  help  to  warm  the 
cockles  of  your  heart.  Now,  put  plenty  of 
soft  kindlings  in  front  of  your  back-log,  and  pile 
your  sticks  up  across  the  andirons,  not  too  close 
together,  and  touch  it  off  with  a  match.  And 
now  draw  up  your  chair  and  watch  it  —  and 
let  it  rain  —  who  cares  ? 

Or,  if  the  fire-god  does  not  exercise  its 
mysterious  fascinations  over  you  so  that  you 
cannot  read,  select  a  good  book.  It  may  be 
the  latest  novel,  the  recent  book  of  essays 
that  everybody  is  talking  about,  or  it  may  be 
a  late  magazine.  Better  yet,  it  may  be  that 
book  you  have  been  saving  up  so  long  to  read 
when  you  have  time,  or  that  old  favourite  you 
have  read  until  you  have  it  almost  by  heart; 


156  SPINSTER   FARM 

this  is  the  very  time  and  place,  and  —  let  it 
rain.  By  and  by  you  will  get  drowsy,  perhaps, 
and  will  drop  off  to  sleep,  provided  you  have 
been  wise  and  chosen  a  chair  with  an  easy 
resting-place  for  the  head;  or  you  may  want 
a  change,  instead  of  a  nap. 

Then  try  the  piano.  It  is  on  a  rainy  day  in 
the  country  that  the  real  companionship  of  a 
piano  comes  into  play.  You  will  sit  down  with 
no  particular  desire  to  learn  something,  or  to 
show  off  before  folks ;  but  just  to  let  your  fingers 
stray  over  the  keys,  recalling  old  melodies  you 
learned  long  years  ago,  favourites  of  your  own 
or  of  mother's  or  father's;  just  tunes  that  are 
a  part  of  your  life.  The  house  will  be  quite 
still,  because  there  will  be  others  somewhere 
about  who  will  be  listening  with  a  heart- interest 
that  they  do  not  have  when  you  play  more 
classical  things  of  an  evening  or  on  occasions 
when  you  are  all  dressed  up,  so  to  speak,  in 
sonatas  and  symphonic  poems  and  rhapsodies. 


SPINSTER   TO    THE   PROFESSOR  157 

But  you  will  not  be  conscious  of  the  others, 
you  will  just  play  and  play  and  play.  And 
the  first  thing  you  know,  dusk  will  be  coming 
on,  and  the  day  draws  to  a  close  —  such  a  short 
day  after  all,  and  one  that  has  done  you  so  much 
good ;  one  that  has  helped  you  find  yourself  and 
get  your  balance,  and  think  things  that  there  is 
no  time  for  when  the  sun  shines. 

And  as  night  settles  down,  and  the  family 
gathers  around  that  open  fire,  replenished 
every  little  while  with  a  basket  of  chips  to  make 
a  cheerful  blaze,  you  will  feel  what  it  is  to  have 
a  real  old-fashioned  home ;  you  will  know  that 
the  quiet,  rainy  day  has  watered  your  soul 
and  your  affections,  just  as  it  has  watered  the 
thirsty  earth.  And  when  you  finally  tear 
yourself  away  from  the  dying  embers,  after 
you  have  watched  the  flames  die  and  the  coals 
crumble,  and  picture  after  picture  dissolve  into 
ashes,  you  will  feel  that  your  life  has  been  en- 
riched and  broacened;  that  when  morning 


158  SPINSTER   FARM 

comes  with  its  sunshine  and  its  new  duties, 
you  will  be  ready  to  meet  it  with  an  uplifted 
heart.  And  you  will  say  over  to  yourself,  going 
up  the  little  narrow,  winding  stairs  with  your 
candle  :  "  Into  every  life,  some  rain  must  fall  ; 
some  days  be  dark  and  dreary;"  but  what 
should  we  do  if  life  were  all  sunshine  ? 
Thank  God  for  his  rainy  days. 


P.  S.  —Have  I  thought  better  of  it?  Can  I 
persuade  myself,  etc.?  Well,  no,  my  friend. 
Let's  just  stay  the  good  friends  we  have  been 
for  years.  We  are  too  old  to  change.  Don't 
speak  of  it  again,  but  when  you  get  back  from 
your  vacation  in  Colorado,  come  out  and  see 

J.F. 


CHAPTER  XII 
THE  SPINSTER'S  CATS 

ACCORDING  to  a  time-honoured  tradition, 
spinsterhood  is  not  complete  without  its  three 
concomitants,  a  pot  of  heliotrope,  a  canary  bird 
and  a  cat.  Now  the  Spinster  detested  heliotrope 
and  so  lacked  the  first  condition,  while  the 
second  was  missing  because  of  the  preponderance 
of  the  third.  In  short,  she  loved  canaries  not 
less  but  cats  a  great  deal  more,  and  when  she 
moved  from  the  city  to  Spinster  Farm,  not  only 
she,  but  Peggy  and  Mary  Jane  were  so  loaded 
down  with  cats  in  bags  and  cats  in  baskets 
that  when  they  alighted  from  the  train  the  natives 
stood  aghast.  And  there  is  a  tradition  in 
Elysium  to  this  day  that  she  brought  with 
her,  in  the  passenger  coach,  thirteen  cats. 

169 


160  SPINSTER   FARM 

There  were  only  four,  however  —  which 
fact  aptly  illustrates  the  rapidity  with  which 
a  piece  of  news  will  multiply  itself  in  a  country 
town.  But  if  they  were  counted  by  avoirdupois 
instead  of  by  head,  the  aggregate  of  the  Spin- 
ster's fine,  great  cats  would  amount,  doubtless, 
to  that  of  thirteen  of  the  average  farmer's  thin, 
dejected  felines,  who  depend  solely  on  their  own 
prowess  for  an  occasional  meal.  The  Spinster's 
four  would  weigh,  lumped  together  (indeed,  if 
her  cats  were  to  suffer  such  indignity!),  over 
seventy  pounds ;  great,  sleek,  handsome  fellows 
that  were  the  envy  of  every  cat-lover  who  be- 
held them. 

Thomas  Erastus  was  the  oldest  of  the  quar- 
tette, a  noble  Maltese,  whose  splendid  head 
spoke  eloquently  of  his  relationship  to  the  lion 
and  verified  the  many  tales  of  his  remarkable 
intelligence.  Thomas  Erastus  took  kindly  to 
the  country  at  once,  and  his  delight  at  being 
free  to  go  when  and  where  he  would  was  almost 


THE    SPINSTER'S    CATS         161 

pathetic  to  see.  He  was  a  cautious  fellow, 
and  having  once  been  lost  for  ten  days  when 
his  mistress  took  him  away  for  the  Summer, 
he  set  about  making  himself  familiar  with  the 
geography  of  his  new  home.  When  he  had 
finished  his  elaborate  survey  of  Spinster  Farm, 
he  settled  down  for  the  inveterate  scrubbing 
which  immaculate  and  pampered  cats  indulge  in 
at  all  times  and  seasons;  and  from  that  hour 
was  as  contented  as  if  he  had  lived  on  that 
particular  spot  from  his  far  distant  kitten- 
hood. 

"  Don't  tell  me  a  cat  cannot  be  moved," 
the  Spinster  was  in  the  habit  of  saying,  "  or 
that  they  are  more  attached  to  places  than  to 
people.  If  you  treat  your  cat  like  the  dignified 
individual  he  really  is,  and  love  him,  he  will 
love  you  far  more  than  he  does  any  mere  shell 
of  a  house.  And  wherever  you  go,  there  he  will 
be  content  to  go  also,  especially  if  all  the  familiar 
belongings,  the  rugs  and  sofas  and  easy  chairs, 


162  SPINSTER   FARM 

go  too.  It's  your  own  fault  if  your  cat  will  not 
be  moved." 

Then  there  was  James  the  First,  or  more 
appropriately,  Peggy  said,  "  Jim-Dandy,"  a 
black-and-white  cat  of  aldermanic  proportions 
and  benevolent  dignity ;  and  Pomp,  his  brother, 
of  scarcely  less  dimensions  but  more  sombre 
hue,  with  no  white  trimmings  at  all;  and  last 
of  all,  the  one  working  member,  "  Buffie," 
who  cultivated  assiduously  the  neglected  art 
(on  Spinster  Farm)  of  hunting  out  mice  and 
rats.  There  was  no  dog,  because  all  these 
felines  objected  to  them,  not  only  on  general 
principles  but  in  specific,  individual  cases,  so  that 
various  and  sundry  dogs  fled  the  place  with 
wild  howls  of  fear  and  rage,  and  streaks  of  gore 
on  their  noses,  which  had  been  poking  into 
other  people's  business. 

But  they  still  look  forward  to  owning  a  good 
dog  some  day  —  the  Spinster  and  Peggy.  For 
they  are  not  of  that  order  of  humans  who  cannot 


THE   SPINSTER'S   CATS         163 

cherish  a  love  for  both  cats  and  dogs.  Instead, 
they  love  all  animals,  and  value  the  com- 
panionship of  every  bird  and  beast.  And  yet, 
when  the  open  fire  blazed  at  night  and  one  or 
two  of  the  great  cats  lay  stretched  on  the  hearth 
rug,  what  more  was  needed  to  add  the  finishing 
touch  of  comfort  and  companionship? 

Peggy,  indeed,  thought  seriously  of  raising 
Angora  cats  for  sale,  and  establishing  a  cattery 
on  a  large  scale.  But  when  she  looked  into  the 
matter  and  estimated  the  expense  of  building 
and  getting  fine  stock,  the  amount  of  care  they 
must  have  and  the  uncertainty  both  of  kitten- 
hood  and  of  profits,  she  gave  it  up.  Perhaps, 
after  all,  it  was  because  of  her  love  for  the  cats 
themselves. 

"  I  never  could  sell  them,  Auntie,"  she  said. 
"  After  feeding  and  caring  for  the  dear,  fluffy 
little  things  for  several  months,  I  should  become 
so  attached  to  them,  that  I  just  could  not  pack 
them  off  by  express  to  some  stranger.  I  should 


164  SPINSTER   FARM 

keep  them  all,  and  we  should  soon  be  overrun 
with  cats,  so  I  shall  never  make  my  fortune 
with  cats. 

"  I  wish  we  could  find  some  buried  treasure 
on  the  place,"  she  added,  with  a  sudden  change 
of  subject.  "  If  that  Captain  De  Horte  did 
'  run  off  between  two  days,'  as  Hiram  says,  he 
may  have  buried  some.  Who  knows?  To 
be  sure,  according  to  tradition  he  sent  back 
some  men,  one  dark  night  a  few  weeks  after 
his  disappearance,  and  they  were  seen,  with  a 
lantern,  digging  over  by  the  road,  among  the 
bushes.  They  left  a  deep  hole,  and  it  is  there 
to-day,  all  grass-grown,  and  full  of  mystery." 

"  George !  I'd  like  to  see  a  deep  hole,  grass- 
grown  and  filled  with  mystery,"  put  in  Robert 
Graves,  who  was  at  Spinster  Farm  for  the 
week-end. 

"  And  while  there  is  probably  nothing  left 
in  the  pasture,"  Peggy  went  on,  calmly  ignor- 
ing the  young  man,  "  I've  been  thinking  how 


THE    SPINSTER'S    CATS         165 

very  romantic  it  would  be  if  we  should  ever 
find  a  secret  closet  in  the  house,  or  a  box  in 
the  cellar,  or  a  missing  will  in  the  wall  —  or 
anything." 

The  Spinster  smiled.  It  is  a  doubtful  pleasure, 
after  all,  to  have  outlived  one's  illusions. 

"  I  fear  there  would  be  little  use.  If  the 
redoubtable  captain  was  shrewd  enough  to 
send  men  back  for  his  treasure,  he  was  shrewd 
enough  to  get  it  all.  We  shall  find  no  bags  of 
gold  at  the  end  of  our  rainbow.  But  it  is  some- 
thing to  live  at  the  end  of  the  rainbow,"  she 
added  musingly. 

There  came  a  day  when  Thomas  Erastus, 
the  oldest  and  best  of  the  cats,  was  no  more. 
There  were  tears  in  the  eyes  of  both  women 
when  he  went,  and  sad  hearts  in  the  household 
where  he  had  lived  so  long. 

"  He  was  such  a  worthy  old  fellow,  Auntie  — 
please  write  out  the  story  of  his  life.  Won't 
you?" 


166  SPINSTER   FARM 

But  perhaps  it  was  as  much  to  ease  the  ache 
in  her  own  heart  as  to  gratify  Peggy  that  the 
Spinster  did  write : 

THE  PASSING  OF  THOMAS  ERASTUS 

He  was  intimately  associated  with  us  for 
thirteen  years,  and  never  under  any  circum- 
stances failed  in  gentle  dignity  or  in  a  certain 
noble  courtesy;  shall  I  not,  therefore,  pay 
tribute  to  his  memory  ?  He  was  put  to  the  test 
times  without  number,  both  with  man  and  beast, 
yet  he  never  failed  of  being  a  true  gentleman ; 
and  what  human  being  can  show  a  better  record 
for  a  lifetime?  If  one  were  to  believe,  as  one 
is  sometimes  tempted,  in  the  transmigration 
of  souls,  it  would  be  easy  to  recognize  in  Thomas 
Erastus  the  'steenth  reincarnation  of  Lord 
Chesterfield.  For  even  on  that  Summer  eve- 
ning when  he  first  appeared  suddenly  —  from 
the  unseen,  perhaps,  since  no  one  saw  him 
enter  the  house  or  the  room  —  in  the  dining- 


THE   SPINSTER'S    CATS         167 

room,  his  gentle  dignity  sat  paramount  above 
his  forlorn,  bedraggled  condition. 

"  Oh,  but  the  two  sides  of  'im  are  just  like 
this,"  exclaimed  the  maid,  flattening  her  palms 
together;  but  after  the  mute  appeal  in  his 
great  gray  eyes,  set  wide  apart  in  his  broad, 
soft  forehead,  as  he  crawled  up  my  lap  to  nestle 
persuasively  in  my  neck,  the  description  was 
no  longer  a  graphic  one,  and  at  the  end  of 
another  hour  Thomas  Erastus  was  making 
an  elaborate  toilet  on  the  back  doorstep,  pre- 
paratory to  ejecting  all  other  feline  depredators 
from  the  premises.  For  even  as  a  half-grown 
kitten  he  had  that  strange  mastery  over  other 
cats  (and  some  people)  which  ever  distinguished 
him  as  the  head  of  several  "  feline  dynasties," 
as  Theophile  Gautier  used  to  call  his  successive 
cat-families.  Thomas  Erastus  never  conde- 
scended to  the  use  of  tooth  and  claw  for  the 
purpose  of  subjugating  his  enemies.  He  was 
no  common  fighter;  the  prowess  that  attaches 


168  SPINSTER   FARM 

to  the  bully  and  the  warrior  was  never  his. 
He  possessed,  rather,  the  diplomacy  of  the 
statesman  — or  was  it  the  psychology  of  animal 
telepathy,  or  the  magnetism  that  goes  to  make 
a  great  leader  —  who  shall  say  ? 

At  any  rate,  Thomas  Erastus  had  only  to 
look  at  other  cats,  playful,  presuming  or  belliger- 
ent, to  subdue  them.  I  have  seen  the  friskiest  of 
kittens,  when  about  to  pounce  upon  the  leonine 
form  of  the  older  cat  in  abandoned  impudence, 
suddenly  drop  his  gleeful  tail  and  retire  to  a 
safe  distance  for  a  meditative  moment,  at  one 
calm  look  from  Thomas  Erastus.  I  have  seen 
stray  and  battle-marked  veterans  flee  as  if  from 
a  pestilence  after  a  near  approach  to  the  piazza 
where  sat  Thomas  Erastus  with  that  far, 
inscrutable  gaze.  I  have  even  seen  our  owrn 
cats,  which  he  always  tolerated  courteously 
and  sometimes  seemed  to  love,  obey  his  silent 
behests  and  yield  up  some  coveted  position 
beside  the  fire  or  in  a  cushioned  chair  at  the 


THE   SPINSTER'S    CATS         169 

mere  masterfulness  of  his  quiet  gaze;  but  I 
never  saw  Thomas  Erastus  in  the  role  of  a 
bully  or  assume  a  show  of  authority.  What 
mental  power  is  it  that  sometimes  displays  itself 
in  "  dumb  "  animals  and  which  even  "  the  beasts 
of  the  field  "  recognize  and  obey? 

His  patriarchal  attitude  toward  the  other 
family  cats  was  always  a  source  of  amusement 
to  human  onlookers.  He  was  no  more  like 
the  father  who  appropriates  the  best  of  every- 
thing in  the  family  circle  simply  because  he  is 
the  head  than  he  was  like  the  mother  who  gives 
up  unselfishly  even  the  food  she  should  eat, 
but  the  most  comfortable  places,  the  choicest 
tidbits,  the  highest  honours  gravitated  to  him 
as  naturally  as  they  must  have  gone  to  Abraham, 
in  the  days  of  old,  at  the  head  of  his  tribe. 

As  I  have  intimated,  his  orders  were  never 
audible,  but  they  were  understood,  and  he  was 
ruler  of  his  kingdom.  When  we  lived  where 
all  cats  must  be  kept  indoors  at  night,  who 


170  SPINSTER   FARM 

could  get  ours  in  on  those  charming,  moonlit 
nights  when  elves  and  witches  and  the  mysteri- 
ous cat-spirit  were  altogether  in  sympathy? 
Who,  when  rattle-pated  kittens  frisked  saucily 
around  the  corners  of  the  house  in  apparent 
oblivion  of  anxious  feminine  voices,  used  to 
march  sedately  forth  among  them  and  in  his 
dignified,  silent,  grave  fashion,  round  them  all 
up  and  escort  them  to  the  back  door,  where  he 
would  wait  until  the  last  of  the  silly  brood  was 
well  indoors  before  entering  himself?  None 
but  Thomas  Erastus.  And  this  practice  he 
never  forgot,  but  even  a  few  nights  before  he 
gently  breathed  his  last,  when  venturesome 
young  Buffie  refused  to  enter  the  ark  of  safety, 
he  went  forth,  this  dignified  old  fellow,  and 
brought  the  yellow  one  in,  tractable  and  affec- 
tionate and  with  an  "  I-am-sorry  "  air  that  sat 
comically  upon  his  waving  plume-like  tail. 

It  is  comforting  to  remember,  when  you  have 
housed  and  fed  and  tended  and  loved  an  animal 


THE    SPINSTER'S    CATS         171 

for  thirteen  years,  that  you  have  given  at  least 
one  of  God's  little  creatures  a  happy  life.  I 
have  but  one  dreadful  fifteen-day  trouble  to 
reproach  myself  with,  though  that  was  not 
the  result  of  any  lack  of  tenderness  or  care. 
I  refer  to  the  time,  off  out  in  the  country,  when 
Thomas  Erastus  was  stolen  and  carried  half 
a  mile  away  and  shut  up  in  a  vacant  outbuilding, 
only  to  be  discovered  after  we  had  ransacked 
the  whole  surrounding  region  in  vain,  adver- 
tising and  offering  rewards  in  futile,  anxious 
fashion.  We  never  knew  just  how  it  happened. 
One  morning  there  was  no  Thomas  Erastus; 
that  was  all.  He  had  been  there  the  night 
before,  but  the  place  being  so  quiet  and  peace- 
ful, the  "cat-hole"  (the  invention  of  some 
soft-hearted  old  Puritan)  was  left  open.  It 
was  then  we  found  his  true  relation  to  the 
family.  It  was  then  we  realized  what  it  means 
to  miss  the  companionship  of  so  truly  intelligent 
a  cat.  I  had  almost  said,  "  human  "  instead 


172  SPINSTER   FARM 

of  intelligent,  but  I  am  a  little  doubtful  of  the 
compliment.  We  searched  every  corner  of  the 
house  and  barn  and  grounds.  We  went  all 
through  the  neighbouring  barns.  We  walked  for 
miles  through  the  adjacent  fields,  half  expecting 
to  come  upon  a  mangled,  soft,  gray  body;  but 
to  no  avail.  I  wandered  through  other  people's 
meadows,  calling  softly  to  him,  until  I  suspect 
the  neighbours  looked  upon  me  as  a  poor, 
demented  woman  indulging  in  some  harmless 
vagary.  But  there  was  no  trace  of  him.  I  am 
not  ashamed  to  say  that  I  shed  some  real  tears 
o'  nights  as  I  lay  wondering  whether  he  had 
been  poisoned  or  torn  by  dogs,  or  suffered  any 
other  of  the  dreadful  things  that  may  happen 
to  a  wandering,  confused  and  hopeless  pet. 
I  went  back  to  my  city  flat,  mourning  him  every 
moment,  and  after  a  few  days  came  a  telegram: 

"  Cat  is  found." 

Within  two  hours  I  had  reached  the  little 
country  town  and  was  wielding  the  knocker 


THE   SPINSTER'S   CATS         173 

at  the  front  door  of  the  big  house  where  I  had 
been  directed  to  go.  An  elderly  woman  came 
to  the  door. 

"  Have  you  found  a  stray  cat?  "  I  inquired, 
anxiously. 

"Are  you  a  crank,  too?"  she  returned, 
irrelevantly. 

"  I  am,"  I  said,  comprehending.  "  Let  me 
see  him." 

She  went  out  and  got  a  key  and  together 
we  went  to  the  outbuilding  where  she  had 
found  him  that  morning,  on  going  there  to  hunt 
for  some  article  of  infrequent  use,  such  as  gets 
itself  stored  in  out-of-the-way  places.  He 
was  up  in  the  loft  and  refused  to  come  down 
at  the  sound  of  my  voice.  I  will  confess  I  was 
hurt  that  —  after  my  days  and  nights  of  anxiety 
about  him,  my  expense  and  trouble  and  time 
-he  would  not  come  down  and  greet  me; 
but  I  knew  him  well.  And  when  I  had  climbed 
up  there  over  a  rickety  stairway  and  identified 


174  SPINSTER   FARM 

him  beyond  doubt,  he  deliberately  turned  his 
back  upon  me  and  sat  down. 

"  It  is  all  your  fault,"  he  seemed  to  be  saying. 
"  If  you  had  been  up  early  that  morning  they 
never  would  have  got  me.  See  what  a  plight 
you  have  reduced  me  to !  " 

He  could  barely  stagger  when  they  found  him ; 
but  that  good  woman  had  taken  the  steak  for 
her  own  dinner  to  make  a  nice  savoury  stew  for 
him,  feeding  him  a  little  at  a  time,  for  she  knew 
all  about  cats.  And,  after  another  dose  of  stew, 
we  started  for  home.  Thomas  Erastus  knew 
that  I  was  taking  him  there  and  did  not  offer 
to  get  away  from  my  arms,  even  when  the 
engine  came  puffing  up  to  the  little  station  and 
we  boarded  the  train.  He  slept  peacefully 
in  my  lap  all  the  way  to  Boston,  singing  his 
new-found  peace  in  a  purr  of  loud  content 
all  the  way.  Before  this  episode,  I  will  say 
in  passing,  he  had  seldom  been  heard  to  purr, 
but  afterward  he  always  expressed  his  joy  in 


THE   SPINSTER'S    CATS         175 

that  comfortable  fashion  that  has  belonged 
to  cats  from  time  immemorial.  Arriving  at 
the  station  in  Boston,  I  went  the  rest  of  the 
way  in  the  electric  car,  Thomas  remembering 
perfectly  that  he  had  been  there  before,  and 
seeming  to  understand  that  it  was  all  a  part 
of  the  horrid  mechanism  that  was  taking  him 
home.  When  we  got  off  the  car  at  the  corner 
of  our  street,  however,  his  willingness  to  remain 
nestled  in  my  arms  vanished.  He  struggled 
to  get  away,  and  when  I  put  him  down  ran  as 
fast  as  his  attenuated  legs  could  carry  him 
straight  for  his  front  porch,  where  he  awaited 
my  coming  to  let  him  in.  His  joy  when  once 
in  his  old  home  was  fairly  pathetic  to  see.  He 
went  over  every  bit  of  it,  leaving  no  corner, 
no  closet,  uninspected.  It  was  dark  when  we 
arrived,  and  all  night  he  stayed  in,  sleeping 
in  snatches  for  a  few  moments  and  then  going 
through  the  rooms  on  a  tour  of  investigation, 
to  reassure  himself  that  it  was  not  all  a  dream. 


176  SPINSTER   FARM 

that  he  was  not  lost,  that  he  was  not  starving  — 
deserted  by  one  who  should  have  stood  by  him 
as  he  would  have  done  by  her.  In  a  few  weeks 
he  had  regained  his  former  physical  condition 
(seventeen  pounds  was  his  weight  for  years), 
but  he  always  retained  his  fear  of  men  clad  in 
working-clothes,  and  carried,  encysted  in  his 
side,  a  single  lead  shot.  He  had  from  kitten- 
hood  been  exceedingly  fond  of  men;  after 
this  he  discriminated.  I  found,  later,  that 
he  had  been  stolen  by  half-grown  country 
boys  in  rough  clothing.  He  never  forgot  it. 

I  am  aware  that  some  who  read  this  will  accuse 
me  of  sentimentality  and  of  drawing  on  the 
imagination;  but  they  will  not  belong  to  the 
gifted  ckss  of  people  who  admire  and  love, 
while  they  do  not  pretend  to  understand,  cats. 
After  his  kidnapping  and  exile  Thomas  Erastus, 
duly  chastened  in  spirit,  grew  meeker  and  more 
fond  of  those  who  loved  him.  From  being  the 
haughtiest  and  most  reserved  of  cats,  he  became 


THE   SPINSTER'S    CATS         177 

affectionate  and  humble  in  demeanour.  And 
it  was  then  that  we  began  to  call  him  "  Mr. 
Loveliness,"  dropping  his  more  formal  name 
for  use  on  state  occasions  only.  At  the  last, 
when  his  failing  powers  put  him  in  the  class 
with  the  fine  old  gentlemen  who  succumb 
gradually  and  gracefully  to  the  weaknesses  of 
age,  he  was  known  in  the  family  circle  as  "  Old 
Mr.  Man,"  but  as  Thomas  Erastus  his  fame 
has  gone  abroad  in  printer's  ink,  and  by  that 
name  will  he  be  ever  remembered. 

How  much  the  dear  old  fellow  knew  and 
understood  of  us  and  our  failings  and  affections 
we  shall  never  know.  For,  like  all  good  cats, 
he  had  that  compelling  influence  that  forced 
us  to  obey  his  wishes,  while  the  workings  of 
his  own  mind  and  the  exact  scope  of  his  knowl- 
edge remained  veiled  in  mystery.  When  he 
wanted  anything,  he  would  come  and  sit  beside 
me,  gazing  intently  into  my  face,  and  after 
a  little  I  divined  his  wish  and  waited  upon  him 


178  SPINSTER   FARM 

according  to  his  desire.  I  seldom  mistook  him, 
either.  As,  for  instance,  I  was  in  the  habit 
at  one  time  of  using  that  abomination  of  the 
flat-dweller,  a  folding-bed.  Now,  Thomas 
Erastus  knew  that  it  was  comfortable,  and  con- 
descended to  sleep  at  my  feet  all  night.  Early 
in  the  evening,  long  before  my  hour  of  retiring, 
he  used  to  come  softly  and  gaze  steadily  at  me ; 
and  then  I  would  rise  as  in  a  sort  of  hypnotic 
trance  and  let  down  the  bed  for  him,  whereupon 
he  would  jump  on  to  it  and  make  his  dainty 
little  preparations  for  a  good  night's  rest,  being 
wrapped  in  sound  slumber  hours  before  his 
mistress  joined  him.  It  was  in  that  flat  that 
he  displayed  rare  cunning,  too,  with  a  piece  of 
tiny  wire.  For  weeks  we  noticed  him  frolicking 
madly  at  the  edges  of  a  certain  rug  and  out  into 
the  hallway.  After  awhile  we  saw  that  he  had 
some  object  which  he  tossed  into  the  air  and 
caught  again,  but  it  was  several  days  more 
before  we  discovered  that  the  object  was  a  bit 


THE   SPINSTER'S   CATS         179 

of  the  smallest  silver  wire.  When  he  had  played 
long  enough  and  left  his  rug,  we  would  look 
for  his  plaything,  but  it  was  months  before  we 
found  it,  hidden  away  under  a  closet  door, 
whence  he  would  drag  it  forth  again  when  he 
felt  like  playing.  One  day  it  was  lost,  and  we 
noticed  him  hunting  under  rugs  and  closet 
doors  for  it.  We  hurried  to  supply  him  with 
another  piece,  which  he  took  and  tossed  into 
the  air  at  once,  caught,  smelled,  and  then 
abandoned.  It  was  one  degree  coarser  than 
his  old  one.  He  never  touched  it  again:  but 
one  day,  years  after,  and  shortly  before  his 
death,  I  came  across  another  bit  of  the  same 
grade  he  had  loved  to  play  with  all  that  Winter. 
I  put  it  down  before  him;  with  a  surprised 
expression  he  caught  at  it,  took  it  in  his  teeth 
and  laid  it  down  again.  It  was  like  the  old  one, 
but,  alas!  he  was  now  too  old;  it  was  as  an 
old  man  might  examine  with  interest  some  toy 
of  his  boyhood  and  lay  it  sadly  by. 


180  SPINSTER   FARM 

I  am  not  claiming  that  all  cats  are  endowed 
with  the  qualities  of  mind  —  and,  yes,  of  heart 
—  that  distinguished  Thomas  Erastus.  There 
is  as  much  difference  in  cats  as  in  people.  Take 
our  handsome,  affectionate  Pompey,  who  will 
stand  stupidly  before  a  door  that  is  ajar  for  an 
inch  or  two  and  squeak  piteously  until  some- 
body comes  and  pushes  it  open  for  him  to  enter ; 
but  Old  Mr.  Man  would  not  only  put  in  his 
paw  and  push  the  door  open  for  himself  but 
would  find  a  way  to  unlatch  every  door  in  the 
house.  There  was  one,  even,  that  swung  inward 
where  he  often  wanted  to  get  through,  but  he 
never  asked  audibly  to  have  it  opened;  he 
resorted,  instead,  to  the  expedient  of  swinging 
a  closet  door  that  stood  next  to  the  one  he  de- 
sired to  go  through,  and  which  creaked  on  its 
hinges.  The  occupant  of  the  kitchen,  hearing 
the  closet  door,  would  turn,  and  that  hypnotic 
gaze  did  the  rest. 

After  all,  no  cat  is  at  his  happiest  and  best 


THE   SPINSTER'S   CATS         181 

in  the  city.  It  was  when  we  moved  out  into 
the  real  country  that  Mr.  Loveliness  came  into 
his  own.  Here  he  enjoyed  three  years  of  unin- 
terrupted and  unalloyed  happiness.  For  months 
he  basked  in  leaf-shaded  grounds,  or  under 
the  sunny  skies ;  freedom  to  wander  at  his  will 
all  through  the  dreamy,  moonlight  night,  to 
sleep  in  the  old  hay-scented  barn,  to  roam 
quietly  in  warm  meadows  and  pleasant  orchards 
has  been  his.  No  dog  chased  him,  no  boy 
tormented  him. 

To  be  sure,  one  neighbour  who  regards  cats 
only  as  utilitarians  spake  scornfully  of  our 
whole  flock  of  cats  thus : 

"  Why,  I'd  jest  as  soon  have  a  peak-ed  stick 
round  as  one  o'  them  things." 

But  we  do  not  prize  our  cats  chiefly  for  the 
number  of  mice  and  rats  they  can  slay.  Rat 
poison  and  mice-traps  are  cheap  and  the  com- 
panionship of  a  good  cat  too  lovely  a  thing  for 
that.  Besides,  Thomas  Erastus  was  of  too  fine 


182  SPINSTER   FARM 

a  grain  to  delight  in  murder.  I  once  saw  a 
young  rat,  which  he  had  caught  and  was  playing 
with  after  the  manner  of  his  kind,  sit  up  on  his 
haunches  before  Mr.  Man  and  beg  for  his  life. 

And  then  Thomas  Erastus  turned  slowly  on 
his  four  heels  and  walked  away,  as  if  to  say: 
"  Let  those  kill  you,  to  whom  life  is  so  sweet, 
who  can.  I  will  not."  With  all  my  woman's 
detestation  of  rats,  I  could  but  feel  the  pathos 
of  the  situation,  for  the  pitiful  attitude  of  the 
rat,  caught  as  he  was  in  a  room  where  he  could 
not  escape  by  any  strategy.  And  anyhow, 
my  cats  are  more  to  me  than  mere  mouse-traps. 

Thomas  Erastus  was  of  a  literary  turn  of 
mind.  He  took  delight  in  lying  on  my  desk 
on  piles  of  manuscript  or  proofs ;  or  on  the  library 
table  amid  the  latest  magazine  and  books. 
One  Winter,  when  we  had  a  low  bookcase 
standing  in  the  hall,  we  used  to  find  certain 
paper-covered  volumes  on  the  floor,  pulled 
from  the  lowest  shelf.  For  some  time  I  picked 


THE   SPINSTER'S    CATS         183 

them  up  patiently  and  put  them  back,  mutter- 
ing anathemas  on  the  habits  of  careless  people 
who  did  not  put  their  books  back  where  they 
belonged.  Then  one  day  I  noticed  the  other 
member  of  the  family  —  our  human  family  — 
picking  up  the  books  and  muttering  the  same 
thing  about  me.  Explanations  followed,  and 
the  next  morning  a  little  sly  peeping  showed 
Thomas  Erastus  sitting  before  the  bookcase 
when  he  thought  no  one  was  near  and  pulling 
out  a  book  with  his  sharp  claw.  Once  out,  he 
spread  it  open  on  the  floor  and  sat  meditatively 
before  it  for  a  time.  This  tale  can  be  proved 
by  other  witnesses,  although  I  know  I  shall  be 
laughed  at  and  asked  why  I  do  not  improve 
it  by  saying  the  cat  picked  up  and  put  back 
the  volume  after  he  was  discovered.  But  I 
am  nothing  if  not  truthful. 

His  fondness  for  literary  surroundings  re- 
mained with  him  to  the  end  of  his  days,  and 
when,  after  a  long,  slow  illness,  such  as  fre- 


184  SPINSTER   FARM 

quently  comes  to  humans  with  the  "  breaking 
up  "  of  old  age,  he  laid  himself  down,  gravely 
and  sedately  as  ever,  under  the  parlour  desk  — • 
to  die  —  we  had  begun  to  say,  during  that 
year,  "  What  shall  we  do  when  Old  Mr.  Man 
goes?  How  shall  we  ever  keep  house  without 
him?"  But  we  never  realized  how  deeply 
we  should  miss  him,  nor  how  sharp  the  wrench 
would  be  when  his  time  came  to  go  softly 
forth  into  the  great  unknown. 

We  laid  him  gently  away,  all  wrapped  in  a 
white  sheet,  up  in  a  corner  of  the  great  orchard, 
near  where  he  used  to  sit  on  the  old  stone  wall 
and  survey  the  countryside  with  such  deep 
content.  Afterward  we  placed  a  small  granite 
boulder  over  his  grave,  where  it  can  be  seen 
from  the  window  through  the  drifting  snows 
of  Winter  and  the  swaying  clover  of  Summer. 

Good  Old  Mr.  Man.  You  have  gone  to  join 
that  immortal  band  of  famous  cats  which 
numbers  Muezza  of  Mahomet,  Selima,  Eponine, 


THE  SPINSTER'S  CATS          185 

Micetto,  Moumette  Blanche  and  Moumette 
Chinoise;  you  are  with  Atossa,  Matthew 
Arnold's  cat,  and  "  Mother  Michel's  Cat," 
and  Dr.  Johnson's  Hodge  and  Walter  Scott's 
Hinse  and  Mrs.  Spofford's  Lucifer  and  Phosphor 
("  human  beings  in  disguise,  with  virtues 
raised  to  the  nth  power,"  she  says) ;  with  the 
cats  of  Montaigne  and  Beaudelaire  and  Gautier 
and  Miss  Repplier's  Agrippina.  God  rest  ye, 
thorough  gentleman;  I  wish  I  were  as  good 
as  you. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
AGAIN  PEGGY'S  AFFAIRS 

DEAR  SALLIE:  —  Have  you  forgotten  that 
old  adage  about  crossing  a  bridge  before  you 
come  to  it  ?  Calm  your  fears,  ma  chere,  for  I 
solemnly  affirm  that  I  am  not  "  deliberately 
ensnaring  the  affections  of  any  young  man 
whom  I  can  never  receive  as  a  lover; "  and  I 
promise  to  remember  my  descent  from  the 
best  old  Puritan  families,  —  with  an  old  Hu- 
guenot or  two  thrown  in  if  you  like.  As  if  I 
should  ever  be  allowed  to  forget  it!  And  am 
I  not  a  "  Daughter  "  and  a  "  Dame  "  and  a 
"  Descendant  of  Patriots "  and  a  few  other 
things?  And  do  we  not  all  meet  and  glorify 
our  ancestors  several  times  a  year  ? 

186 


AGAIN   PEGGY'S   AFFAIRS      187 

Jack's  business?  Why,  he  has  none.  He 
is  the  pet  of  the  family;  he  toils  not,  neither 
does  he  spin  (nor  its  masculine  equivalent). 
At  least  not  in  hot  weather.  "  What  college?  " 
Well,  I  have  never  asked.  Not  any,  I  should 
say.  But  everybody  loves  him.  His  maiden 
relatives  just  dote  on  him.  He  is  unusually 
handsome,  with  soft  curling  hair  and  the 
loveliest,  most  pathetic  brown  eyes,  that  win 
you  in  spite  of  yourself.  And  he  has  a  certain 
dignity  and  a  high-bred  air  that  renders  him 
quite  distingue.  And  although  Jack  never 
mentions  it  himself  the  Thornton  ladies  will 
tell  you  that  he  comes  of  the  best  stock  in  New 
England,  —  so  there  you  are.  Best  of  all,  how- 
ever, he  is  the  most  faithful  friend  I  ever  had ; 
yes,  he  is.  He  would  never  repeat,  under  any 
circumstances,  a  word  of  all  the  things  I  have 
told  him,  and  consequently  I  do  pour  forth 
my  heart  to  him  when  I  feel  a  little  bit  lone- 
some, as  who  could  help  it  ?  Yes ;  Aunt  Janet 


188  SPINSTER   FARM 

knows  all  about  it  and  has  not  once  frowned 
upon  our  intimacy,  or  objected  to  our  going 
around  together  so  much.  Why  do  you  think 
it  is  so  horrid? 

No.  You  shall  say  nothing  to  Robert  Graves 
about  writing  me.  Not  if  he  is  your  own 
brother.  He  ought  to  know  for  himself.  And 
what  right  has  he  to  be  discussing  me  or  my 
affairs  with  you  or  any  one  else?  Your  last 
letter  began  "  Dear  Margaret."  That  name 
applied  to  me  is  always  a  danger-signal,  so  I 
knew  at  once  you  were  displeased  with  me, 
and  just  what  tone  your  letter  would  take. 
Please  begin  the  next  one,  "  Dear  Peggy " 
and  don't  be  so  severe  on 

Yours  lovingly, 

PEGGY. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

HAVING  COMPANY 

"  COMPANY  is  something  only  the  rich  can 
afford,"  said  Hiram  one  day,  after  a  deluge  of 
relatives  in  haying  time,  "  or  for  people  who 
have  nothing  to  do.  Lord  deliver  me  from 
folks  that  want  to  be  entertained  when  weeds 
are  growin'  faster'n  I  can  foller  'em  with  a  hoe." 

Unconsciously  Hiram  was  struggling  with 
the  truth  that  has  overcome  many  a  feeble 
woman  —  that  entertainment  and  hospitality 
are  not  synonymous  words.  The  guest  that 
demands  all  your  time  and  attention,  who 
must  be  deferred  to  every  morning,  catered 
to  every  noon,  taken  to  drive  every  afternoon 
and  sung  to  every  evening  is  merely  entertained. 

189 


190  SPINSTER   FARM 

The  guest  who  comes  into  your  house  quietly 
and  slips  into  her  part  as  if  she  had  always 
been  a  member  of  the  family ;  who  talks  when 
you  are  not  occupied  with  necessary  things, 
and  reads  or  writes  or  keeps  quiet  when  you 
are  busy;  who  does  not  make  herself  a  drain 
on  your  resources,  but  merely  adapts  her 
personality  to  the  atmosphere  of  your  house  - 
she  it  is  who  really  enjoys  your  hospitality. 
The  wife  of  one  multimillionaire  railroad 
magnate,  noted  for  her  hospitality,  keeps  her 
country-house  filled  with  guests.  But  when 
they  have  been  once  shown  to  their  rooms 
and  made  comfortable  she  gives  them  the  free- 
dom of  her  two-thousand-acre  estate  and  big, 
roomy  house,  and  then  leaves  them.  Some 
days  she  does  not  see  her  guests  until  dinner 
time,  for  evening  sees  a  general  gathering 
of  her  clans.  She  gives  them  the  use  of  her 
horses,  automobiles,  boats,  her  books,  her 
piazzas,  her  grounds,  but  she  does  not  allow 


HAVING   COMPANY  191 

them  to  drain  her  life  or  interfere  with  her 
duties ;  and  when  the  evening  brings  a  round-up 
of  all  the  varied  occupations  and  interests 
of  the  day,  there  is  a  freshness  and  vividness 
to  the  gathering  that  could  not  have  resulted 
from  constant  association  of  guest  and  hostess. 

And  is  not  this  the  true  hospitality?  Given 
a  pleasant  house,  with  books,  music,  pictures, 
cosy  nooks  and  ample  grounds,  would  you  not, 
as  guest,  prefer  to  be  left  to  your  own  way  of 
enjoying  it?  If  your  hostess  is  an  intimate 
friend  there  will  be  hours  of  close  communion, 
but  there  should  also  be  hours  of  silence.  There 
is  nothing  so  tiresome,  so  exhausting,  as  "  visit- 
ing "  in  the  sense  of  our  grandmothers,  where 
the  days  are  wasted  in  idle  chatter,  and  not 
only  the  vocal  organs  but  the  brain  and  nerves 
are  fagged  by  constant  exercise. 

At  Spinster  Farm  there  have  been  many 
guests,  and  although  the  Spinster  and  Peggy 
were  both  good  talkers  and  plied  their  tongues 


192  SPINSTER   FARM 

busily  with  guests  of  a  few  hours'  stay,  when 
they  had  friends  for  overnight  they  found  the 
true  way  of  enjoyment. 

"  Here  are  the  house  and  the  orchard,  the 
Summer-house  and  the  farm,"  the  Spinster 
would  say.  "  Make  yourselves  at  home ;  adopt 
the  place ;  be  one  of  us.  There  is  nothing  too 
good  here  to  be  used;  make  the  place  yours," 
and  then  she  would  leave  them  to  their  own 
devices.  Few  guests  there  have  been  who  did 
not  return  early  and  often. 

"  There  is  such  a  home  atmosphere  to  the 
place,"  they  all  said ;  "  we  feel  as  if  we  belonged 
here."  And  so  they  roamed  outside  or  sat  by 
the  open  fire,  rode  through  enchanting  roads 
after  Ladybird  or  tramped  over  the  hills  with 
Peggy,  drinking  in  the  beauty  of  Elysium  and 
storing  up  ozone  and  health  to  carry  back  to 
town. 

"  Poor  Janet  Fleming ! "  said  some  of  her 
friends  who  could  not  spare  a  day  from  the 


HAVING   COMPANY  193 

world's  bustle  to  go  and  visit  her.  "  Isn't  it 
too  bad  that  she  has  to  live  away  off  out  there, 
away  from  things?  She  who  has  always  been 
so  active  and  interested." 

But  the  Spinster  laughed  when  she  heard  it. 
And  often  as  she  strolled  through  her  beautiful 
walnut  pasture,  listening  to  and  answering 
the  cry  of  the  "  Bob  White,"  or  drove  through 
deep,  solemn  old  woods  alive  with  bird  song 
and  redolent  of  Spring  scents,  or  looked  off 
from  some  hilltops  to  the  blue  mountains 
undulating  against  a  fleecy  sky,  with  the  soft 
June  air  blowing  across  her,  she  could  smile 
again,  and  say,  "  Poor  Janet  Fleming.  Don't 
you  pity  her?  " 

One  day  a  guest  caught  her  standing  under 
the  white  lilac-tree  and  holding  converse  with 
a  rollicking  bobolink  on  a  near-by  apple-tree. 

"  Bobolingle-langle-lingle,"  the  bird  was  just 
finishing. 

"  Lingle-langle-lingle,"  echoed  the  Spinster. 


194  SPINSTER   FARM 

Bob  o'  Lincoln  cocked  his  head  and  looked 
down  at  her.  "  These  human  upstarts,"  he 
seemed  to  be  saying.  "  They  think  they  can 
do  it !  "  Then  he  burst  out  again,  "  Bobo- 
linkum-linkum-linkum,  go-lingle-langle-lingle !  " 

"  Go-lingle-langle-lingle,"  she  echoed  again. 
And  again  he  cocked  his  eye  at  her,  whimsi- 
cally and  in  friendly  fashion. 

"  A  little  better,"  his  manner  said,  "  but  still 
far  from  right.  Now,  listen,"  and  again  he 
burst  forth,  watching  for  her  echo,  and  still 
again  condescending  to  endeavour  to  teach 
her  to  make  that  human  voice  liquidate  into 
the  bobolink's  song.  But  the  guest  stirred  a 
little,  the  buff  cat  appeared,  and  Bob  o'  Lincoln, 
with  a  last  melodious  fling  at  her,  flew  away 
to  the  neighbouring  meadow. 

"  Poor  Janet  Fleming !  "  she  said,  turning  to 
her  guest,  "  don't  you  pity  her?  " 

"  Pity  the  woman  who  comes  into  intimacy 
with  the  birds  of  the  air  ?  Who  entertains  deer 


HAVING   COMPANY  195 

and  pheasants  on  her  front  lawn?  Who  lives 
close  to  the  heart  of  Nature  instead  of  in  the 
hubbub  of  the  human  maelstrom  only  forty 
miles  away?  No,  a  thousand  times,  no." 

"  That's  because  you  are  sensible,"  and  they 
both  stopped  to  listen  to  the  wood-pigeon 
calling  to  his  mate  from  the  pasture.  For  this 
guest  happened  to  be  one  who  loved  Nature, 
not  because  it  happened  to  be  the  present 
fashion,  but  because  of  that  inner  drawing  of 
the  soul  toward  the  whispering  voices  of  the 
woods,  the  field,  the  night,  the  sky.  The 
Spinster  had  known  her  in  town  as  a  woman 
of  causes,  who  wrote  occasional  verse.  But 
after  she  had  moved  out  to  Spinster  Farm,  and 
one  day  had  come  across  "  The  Plaint  of  the 
Town,"  with  this  woman's  name  signed  to  it, 
she  had  written  her  to  come  to  Elysium  for  a 
visit.  And  from  the  following  verses  dated 
a  friendship  that  came  from  the  inward  bond 
of  Nature  worship: 


196  SPINSTER   FARM 

"  Oh,  for  a  glimpse  of  the  wide,  green  fields ! 

Oh,  for  the  sweep  of  the  wind  on  the  plain ! 
And  oh,  for  the  sight  of  the  mountains  grand 

And  the  scent  of  the  meadow  washed  with  rain ! 
I  long  for  the  song  of  the  wild  bird  free, 

The  trill  of  the  song-sparrow,  shrill  and  clear ; 
For  the  robin's  call  and  the  bobolink's  note, 

The  cawing  of  crows,  I  fain  would  hear. 

"The  silvery  brook  I  fain  would  see, 

And  laugh  with  the  shining  waterfall ; 
I  long  for  the  deep  of  the  wildwood  where 

The  silence  and  shade  are  over  all. 
I  long  for  the  scent  of  the  new-mown  hay, 

Of  the  harvest  yellow  on  steep  hillsides ; 
I  long  for  the  gay  west  wind  as  down 

The  mountain  on  aiiy  steed  he  rides. 

"  I  long  to  flee  from  the  city  streets, 

To  hide  from  humanity's  fret  and  moan ; 
To  feel  myself  clasped  to  the  Summer's  heart, 

To  know  that  her  secrets  are  all  my  own. 
Oh,  for  a  glimpse  of  the  wide,  green  fields ! 

Oh,  for  the  sweep  of  the  wind  on  the  plain  ! 
And  oh,  for  a  sight  of  the  mountains  grand, 

And  the  scent  of  the  meadows  washed  with  rain." 

This  guest  had  the  seeing  eye  that  misses 
nothing.  She  saw  not  only  the  lovely,  sinuous 
vista  of  the  wood  road,  but  the  vine  that  draped 
the  old  gray  fence  at  her  side.  The  view  from 


HAVING   COMPANY  197 

the  hilltop  is  for  all,  but  only  the  fine  artist- 
soul  has  eyes  for  the  primrose  waving  over  a 
bed  of  bird-moss  or  the  glint  of  colour  in  a  clump 
of  alders  in  the  swamp. 

The  Spinster  often  found  herself  testing  her 
friends  by  these  standards.  Driving  about  the 
country  roads,  the  occasional  friend  would 
catch  the  beauty- bits  even  before  she  did ;  some- 
times the  guest  would  respond  appreciatively 
when  the  Spinster  said : 

"  Oh,  see,  the  wild  rose  has  blossomed !  " 
or  "  How  pretty  that  poison  ivy  drapes  the 
stone  wall  over  there !  " 

But,  alas !  just  as  often  would  the  visitor  — 
some  highly  educated  woman  with  a  mission 
or  a  hobby  of  more  consequence  in  her  eye 
than  all  the  God-given  beauty  in  the  world  — 
stare  vaguely  in  the  direction  indicated  and 
answer : 

"  Oh,  yes,  very  pretty.  Well,  as  I  was 
saying  —  " 


198  SPINSTER   FARM 

"  Let  them  go  back  to  their  committees, 
their  paupers,  their  red-tape  charities,  their 
vanities,  their  new  fashions,  Auntie,"  Peggy 
would  say  as  they  unharnessed  Ladybird 
together.  "  Between  them  and  us  a  great 
gulf  is  fixed." 

"  Having  eyes,  they  see  not,"  the  Spinster 
would  reply  with  feeling.  "  Thank  Heaven, 
I  left  associated  and  organized  womanhood 
before  it  was  too  late  to  know  what  messages 
the  voices  of  Nature  have  for  me  —  and  for 
me  alone." 

And  so  there  were  times  when  having  com- 
pany was  not  an  unmixed  blessing.  The  people 
who  came  with  the  laudable  purpose  of  lighten- 
ing "  poor  Janet  Fleming's "  solitude,  and 
who  found  nothing  desirable  in  the  country, 
were  the  worst  affliction.  Next  were  those  who 
wrote,  naming  a  day  and  train  by  which  they 
would  arrive,  and  who,  after  Peggy  had  "  laid 
herself  out,"  as  she  phrased  it,  in  elaborating 


HAVING   COMPANY  199 

i 

a  dainty  luncheon  for  them,  and  then  donned 
a  pretty  gown  and  driven  to  the  station  to  meet 
them,  neither  came  nor  took  the  trouble  to 
apologize  afterward.  And  there  were  those, 
a  larger  proportion  than  you  would  suppose, 
who  failed  to  respond  to  invitations  for  the 
week-end  or  some  special  holiday,  thus  making 
it  impossible  to  invite  others,  when  they  failed 
to  come. 

There  were  others  who  came  without  warning, 
and  it  means  something  to  descend  just  before 
luncheon  upon  two  women  who  dwell  afar 
from  markets. 

"  Truly,  in  the  midst  of  seclusion  we  are 
blessed  with  city  company !  "  Peggy  would 
say,  while  the  Spinster  would  only  smile  a 
welcome  and  never  allow  herself  to  be  ruffled 
in  the  least  because  of  the  meal  which  she  must 
make  do  for  several  persons  instead  of  two. 

"  We  are  going  to  have  corn-beef  hash  to-day. 
Come  over  at  half-past  twelve,"  she  wrote  to 


200  SPINSTER   FARM 

a  celebrity  who  was  staying  with  a  neighbour 
one  day,  remembering  to  have  heard  her  say 
that  particular  dish  was  her  favourite  viand 
(and  what  is  better  if  the  hash  is  properly  made 
and  cooked?).  The  celebrity  came  and  par- 
took of  the  simple  meal,  and  so  utterly  delight- 
ful was  the  table-talk  with  which  it  was  garnished 
that  the  fashionable  lady  who  was  staying  at 
Spinster  Farm  looked  on  in  astonishment. 

"  Oh,  if  my  sister  wyould  only  do  that  way," 
she  exclaimed  afterward.  "  But  when  we  have 
company  there  is  so  much  fuss  made  over 
the  best  dishes,  the  linen,  the  decorations,  the 
elaborate  menu  and  all,  that  there  is  no  time 
nor  strength  left  for  mere  enjoyment.  All  you 
did  was  to  lay  an  extra  plate ;  and  what  a  nice 
time  it  was !  " 

"But  why  should  we  put  on  all  these  extra 
frills  when  guests  are  with  us?"  replied  the 
Spinster.  "  I  live  simply  and  quietly.  I  delight 
in  having  people  come  here,  but  if  I  strained 


HAVING   COMPANY  201 

every  nerve  to  prepare  a  meal  that  was  beyond 
my  means,  or  put  on  a  style  to  which  none  of 
us  are  accustomed,  should  I  deceive  anybody? 
Would  not  the  woman  who  keeps  six  servants 
far  rather  come  to  my  simple  table  and  have 
everything  good,  dainty  and  wholesome,  and, 
best  of  all,  have  Peggy  and  me  at  our  best, 
than  have  us  spoil  the  affair  by  assuming  a 
pretentious  style  which  she  must  know  we 
cannot  live  up  to?  " 

"  Of  course  she  would,"  sighed  the  other^ 
•i  But  you  can't  make  all  women  see  it." 


CHAPTER  XV 

AN  ADVENTURE  OF  PEGGY'S 

SALLIE,  DEAR:  —  Yes;  I  shall  accept  "  that 
Jack,"  — if  he  ever  proposes.  And  I  "  think 
him  absolutely  faultless."  But  why  get  so 
excited?  Why  berate  Jack  Thornton  so  un- 
mercifully for  being  "  the  pet  of  the  family," 
when  your  adored  Walter  Durand  is  little 
more  than  that  ?  There,  I  have  said  it,  although 
I  did  not  mean  to,  ever !  However,  I  have  had 
an  adventure,  and  I  hope  you  will  look  with 
a  more  lenient  eye  upon  Jack,  for  if  he  had  not 
been  with  me,  I  should  not  be  writing  you  this 
nice  letter  in  response  for  the  rather  tart  epistle 
you  wrote  me.  Ugh !  It  makes  me  shudder 

to  think  of  it.    This  morning  I  went  out  alone, 
202 


AN   ADVENTURE   OF   PEGGY'S  203 

down  by  the  river.  At  a  certain  curve  in  the 
stream  the  water  settles  back  over  the  meadow, 
leaving  a  tiny  pond  covering  the  ground.  The 
water  is  shallow  and  stagnant,  and  there  grow 
the  most  beautiful  pond-lilies.  I  came  to  this 
spot  in  my  rambles,  and  picked  my  way  out 
on  some  decaying  logs  to  where  they  lie  in  their 
luscious,  creamy  fragrance  on  the  top  of  the 
black  water.  The  finest  bunch,  in  common 
with  most  things  on  this  mundane  sphere, 
was  the  most  difficult  of  access.  But  I  meant 
to  have  it,  just  the  same.  So  with  a  leap  that 
I  intended  should  do  my  athletic  training  great 
credit,  I  tried  to  reach  the  moss-covered  log 
close  to  the  lilies.  But  alas!  my  foot  slipped 
and  I  landed  in  the  water,  if  you'll  excuse  the 
Irish  of  it.  It  was  not  a  foot  deep  and  I  had 
no  fear,  until  I  felt  myself  being  sucked  into 
the  mud  below.  I  tried  to  extricate  my  feet 
but  found  instead  that  they  were  sinking  deeper 
and  deeper.  I  leaned  over  and  tried  to  pull 


204  SPINSTER   FARM 

myself  up  by  the  mossy  log  in  front,  but  it 
crumbled  to  pieces  under  my  touch.  Then  I 
thought  of  a  quicksand  I  had  heard  Hiram 
telling  Auntie  about.  This  must  be  it !  And  I 
was  strictly  "In  it." 

Did  I  conduct  myself  then  in  a  manner  cal- 
culated to  do  credit  to  my  Puritan  ancestry? 
Did  I  remember  the  Colonial  governor  ?  No : 
my  senses  deserted  me  and  I  was  too  stupid 
even  to  resort  to  that  usual  feminine  defence, 
—  screaming.  I  just  stood  there  in  a  dazed, 
foolish  way  and  felt  myself  going  down,  down, 
down,  sucked  in  by  an  invisible  power.  Oh, 
Sallie,  you  can't  think  how  terrible  it  is !  I 
recalled  stories  of  people  who  had  been  rescued 
from  quicksands,  and  more  gruesome  ones  of 
those  who  had  sunk  out  of  sight  and  never 
were  heard  of  more.  I  wondered  why  some 
one  did  not  come  to  my  rescue,  but  my  tongue 
still  clave  to  my  mouth.  I  thought  of  you  all 
(yes,  even  of  Robert,  and  forgave  him)  and 


AN   ADVENTURE   OF    PEGGY'S  205 

repented  of  everything  I  ever  did;  and  it  all 
grew  more  horrible  every  minute,  —  and  then 
I  heard  Jack's  voice !  Then  I  knew  I  should 
be  saved !  and  I  could  have  fallen  at  his  feet 
in  my  gratitude,  except  for  circumstances  over 
which  I  had  no  control.  Of  course,  he  made 
a  loud  outcry  and  rushed  excitedly  to  where 
I  was;  then  he  caught  hold  of  me  and  pulled 
with  all  his  might,  exerting  every  bit  of  his 
strength  to  save  me.  But  I  had  sunk  almost 
to  my  waist,  and  he  —  noble  fellow  —  could 
not  draw  me  out  alone.  He  could  and  did, 
however,  keep  me  from  sinking  any  further, 
and  he  made  such  an  outcry  that  very  soon 
some  men  came,  and  they  all  together  dragged 
me  out  and  got  me  over  to  the  dry,  sunny  bank. 
If  you  are  not  already  paralyzed  with  fright, 
let  me  add  that  after  I  was  drawn  out  it  was 
found  that  just  behind  me,  in  the  water,  lay 
a  sound  log,  by  which,  if  I  had  not  taken  com- 
plete leave  of  my  senses,  I  might  easily  have 


206  SPINSTER   FARM 

saved  myself.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such 
stupidity?  But  still,  the  fact  remains,  —  Jack 
Thornton  saved  my  life. 

Hiram  says  a  man  once  really  lost  his  life 
right  in  that  same  place:  and  I  am  at  a  loss 
whether  to  thank  Heaven  most  for  Jack's 
timely  appearance,  or  to  wonder  at  my  own 
stupidity.  Perhaps  now,  though,  you  will 
forgive  Jack's  devotion  to  me.  And  I  close 
with  the  suggestion  that  but  for  him  I  could 
not  now  sign  myself, 

Your  very  tired 

PEGGY. 

P.  S.  —  Evening.  Jack  is  mine!  No  time 
to  explain  now,  but  he  is  mine!  P. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

AMUSEMENTS 

"  THERE'S  an  auction  over  at  Green  Hollow 
to-morrow,"  announced  Peggy  the  next  day; 
"  let's  go." 

And  so  they  went,  driving  out  over  the  six 
miles  of  country  road  which  showed 

"  A  simple  touch  of  scarlet  on  the  hill 

Where  sumach  dons  the  colour  of  the  flame ; 
A  leaf-strewn  stream  that  loiters  toward  the  mill ; 
A  golden  path  that  shows  whence  Autumn  came." 

When  they  had  tied  Ladybird  under  a  neigh- 
bouring tree  and  joined  the  group  of  people 
gathered  in  the  back  of  a  low-browed  old  farm- 
house, the  bidding  had  already  opened;  but, 
with  the  exception  of  the  group  who  were  imme- 

207 


208  SPINSTER    FARM 

diately  interested  in  the  special  articles  that 
were  offered  at  the  moment,  few  people  were 
paying  any  attention  to  the  bargains  offered 
by  the  auctioneer,  a  plethoric  old  man  who 
combined  the  professions  of  farmer,  jockey 
and  auctioneer,  as  occasion  demanded. 

"  Ain't  this  the  greatest  mess  o'  calamity 
ever  seen?"  inquired  a  friendly  soul,  as  the 
Spinster  stepped  up  to  a  row  of  old  barrels 
filled  with  the  flotsam  and  jetsam  of  forty 
years  of  housekeeping  on  the  same  farm. 
"  There's  everything  here  but  an  automobile." 
And,  indeed,  it  would  be  difficult  to  mention 
anything  which  could  not  be  found  there,  in 
greater  or  less  profusion  and  repair;  a  broken 
lamp-shade,  a  toast-rack,  a  glass  bottle,  a  silk 
hood,  a  chickens'  watering-trough  and  a  part 
of  an  ox-yoke  were  the  contents  of  the  first 
barrel  which  came  under  Peggy's  inquiring 
nose.  Just  beyond  lay  a  pile  of  old  books, 
some  of  which  dated  back  into  the  seventeen 


AMUSEMENTS  209 

hundreds,  and  an  old  Bible,  all  of  which  were 
knocked  down  for  a  quarter  of  a  dollar  an 
hour  later.  There  were  sleighs  and  old  wagons, 
rocking-chairs  and  bedsteads,  hay-racks  and 
churns,  old  clocks  and  tin  ovens  scattered 
around  the  yard.  A  few  good  pieces  of  old 
mahogany  were  there,  too,  on  which  the  Spin- 
ster's covetous  eye  alighted  as  soon  as  she 
entered  the  yard,  and  some  of  which  she  bought 
for  a  trifling  sum. 

Why  is  it  that  one  enters  so  recklessly  into 
the  spirit  of  an  auction  the  moment  one  mingles 
with  an  auction  crowd  ?  The  spirit  of  rivalry 
early  claimed  the  Spinster  for  its  own,  and  she 
joined  in  the  bidding  recklessly,  to  the  end 
that  she  went  home  laden  with  old  pumps, 
a  worn-out  sprayer,  a  coverless  stone  jar,  and 
some  old  glass  cans,  which  she  did  not  need, 
leaving  behind,  for  Hiram  to  fetch  at  his  leisure ? 
an  old  bureau,  a  mirror,  and  a  garden  seat. 

But  there  is  a  fascination  in  the  repetition 


210  SPINSTER   FARM 

of  the  auctioneer's  call,  "Four-thirty  —  thirty 
-thirty-five.  Am  I  bid  forty?  Forty,  forty- 
five  ?  Who  says  forty-five  ?  Forty-five  —  who 
says  fifty?  Fifty-five,  sixty,  sixty-five?  Yes, 
sixty-fi —  seventy  —  seventy-five  ?  Who  says 
eighty?  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  this  is  a  shame. 
A  gorgeous  old  mirror  like  this  to  go  for  four- 
seventy-five?  Just  look  at  yourselves  in  it, 
ladies?  Eighty-five,  do  I  hear?  Ninety  — 
ninety-five?  Who  makes  it  five?  Going  — 
going  —  going  at  five  dollars  —  this  fine  old 
mirror  -  -  five  dollars  -  -  and  gone  to  — 
And  here  the  Spinster  steps  forward  to  pay 
her  five  dollars  and  claim  her  own.  A  worn-out 
old  rocker  comes  next,  and  bidding  is  started 
at  forty  cents.  "  Forty  cents !  "  exclaimed 
the  auctioneer  in  pained  accents,  "  for  this 
time-honoured  seat  of  our  forefathers  ?  Ladies, 
I  am  ashamed  of  you  —  fifty?  Fifty-five? 
Sixty  ?  Seventy  ?  Ah !  now  you  are  waking 
up  —  eighty-seven?  Ninety?  A  dollar." 


AMUSEMENTS  211 

Meanwhile  a  consumptive-looking  man  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  crowd  is  making  an  effort 
to  win  the  auctioneer's  attention. 

"  A  dollar  and  a  quarter,"  he  calls  weakly, 
but  the  mellifluous  tones  of  the  auctioneer  flow 
on,  "  Dollar' n  ten  —  dollar'n  twelve  —  fifteen 
— fifteen  —  fifteen  —  ah !  Twenty !  A  dollar'n 
twenty,  an'  sold  to  John  Smith  here;  and  a 
bargain  it  is." 

The  anemic  makes  his  way  to  the  successful 
one.  "  I'll  give  you  more.  I  offered  a  dollar'n 
a  quarter,"  he  explains. 

"  Take  it,"  says  the  bidder,  "  I  didn't  want 
it.  I  only  bid  to  help  things  along  "  —a  state- 
ment which  reveals  volumes  about  the  inner 
workings  of  the  country  auction. 

Perhaps  it  is  a  widow  who  is  left  alone  in 
the  world  who  is  forced  to  dispose  of  all  she 
has  and  go  among  relatives  to  live;  perhaps 
it  is  the  breaking-up  of  a  family  going  West,  or, 
perhaps,  it  is  only  a  shrewd  move  on  the  part 


212  SPINSTER   FARM 

of  some  farmer,  who  takes  this  way  to  dispose 
of  the  "  calamity  "  which  has  been  accumu- 
lating for  years;  they  all  have  some  friends 
who  attend  these  sales  for  the  purpose  of  aiding 
and  abetting  the  party  of  the  first  part,  and  who 
bid  openly  but  with  discretion  whenever  prices 
sag ;  and,  owing  to  them,  at  least  half  the  stuff 
offered  by  the  auctioneer  sells  for  much  more 
than  it  is  worth.  It  is  the  really  good  pieces, 
however,  that  are  the  bargains.  Mahogany 
beds — four-posters — bureaus  and  wash-stands, 
are  bid  off  by  the  occasional  patron  who  under- 
stands their  value  for  one-fourth  of  what  they 
would  bring  in  any  furniture  store. 

It  seemed  to  the  Spinster  that  one  of  the  most 
pathetic  sights  of  her  life  was  the  crippled  old 
lady  who  sat  in  her  wheel-chair  in  the  pleasant 
kitchen  where  she  had  reigned  forty  years, 
and  saw  all  her  old  familiar  belongings  —  her 
old  furniture,  her  good  bedding,  her  much- 
prized  china  and  glassware  —  knocked  down  to 


AMUSEMENTS  213 

strangers  for  a  fraction  of  what  she  must  have 
known  was  their  actual  value,  not  counting  the 
associations  of  a  lifetime,  the  memories  they 
brought  up,  the  wrench  of  breaking  off  all  the 
home  ties.  She  wanted  to  go  over  and  take 
the  old  lady  by  the  hand  and  say  these  things 
to  her,  but,  instead,  she  went  out  and  bid  in 
her  old  mahogany  bureau  for  five  dollars ! 

The  way  of  life,  when  we  come  to  think  of  it, 
in  city  and  country  is  alike.  And  the  crippled 
old  lady  looked  at  her  with  hostile  eyes,  all 
unknowing  of  the  unspoken  sympathy  that  lay 
between  them. 

Another  of  the  time-honoured  country  insti- 
tutions which  was  a  source  of  delight  to  the 
occupants  of  Spinster  Farm  was  the  county 
fair.  The  second  Autumn  of  their  sojourn  at 
Spinster  Farm  had  come  before  they  ventured 
forth,  one  bright  October  morning,  to  see  the 
"  cattle  show  "  in  a  neighbouring  town.  A 
beautiful  haze  coloured  the  distant  hills,  but  the 


214  SPINSTER   FARM 

foliage  was  at  its  utmost  brilliance,  and  the 
sun's  rays  tempered  the  cool  north  wind  until 
its  pungent  breath  was  grateful  to  both  man  and 
beast. 

Half-way  to  the  fair  grounds  they  noticed  a 
peculiar  tree.  The  resetting  of  old  trees  and 
shrubs  and  the  planting  of  new  ones  had  been 
a  part  of  the  Spinster's  improvement  of  her 
place,  and  noticing  the  luxuriant  and  sym- 
metrical trees  of  the  landscape  had  become 
a  part  of  her  daily  entertainment  wherever  she 
went.  So  when  they  came  to  a  vigorous  maple 
which  had  its  branches  growing  so  close  to  the 
trunk  that  they  took  it  for  a  Lombardy  poplar 
until  they  came  close  to  it,  the  Spinster  broke 
the  ninth  commandment.  She  coveted  the 
tree. 

Driving  up  to  the  house  just  beyond  it,  she 
accosted  an  old  man  who  was  pottering  about 
the  yard,  and  asked  if  the  tree  grew  on  his 
ground. 


AMUSEMENTS  215 

"  Yes,"  he  answered. 

"  Well,"  pursued  the  Spinster,  "  I  will  buy 
that  tree  of  you.  I'd  like  to  have  it  near  my 
house." 

"  Wai,  I'd  know's  I  want  to  sell  that  tree," 
the  old  man  replied. 

"  I'll  give  you  anything  you  ask,"  she  per- 
sisted. "  I'll  give  you  a  hundred  dollars  for 
that  tree." 

"  A  hunderd  dollars,  eh?  "  he  replied.  "  Wai, 
I  don't  want  to  sell  it,  but  ef  you'll  give  me  a 
hunderd  dollars  for  it,  the  tree  is  yours,  on  one 
condition." 

"  Name  your  condition,"  said  the  Spinster. 

"  Wai,  I'll  sell  you  the  tree  and  you  give 
me  a  hunderd  dollars.  But  the  tree  is  to  stand 
right  where  it  is." 

They  drove  on  laughing  and  realizing  that 
the  love  of  familiar  objects  in  Nature  is  not  con- 
fined to  any  one  class  of  people. 

The   fair-ground   was   packed   with   people 


216  SPINSTER   FARM 

when  they  drove  up  in  a  long  procession  of 
carriages,  farmers'  wagons,  automobiles  and 
bicycles.  Following  the  general  custom,  they 
hitched  Ladybird  to  the  fence  and  joined  the 
crowd.  They  went  to  look  at  cows  and  sheep 
and  colts;  they  beheld  prize  roosters  and  top- 
lofty hens;  they  gazed  with  envy  at  the  fatted 
calf;  they  bought  popcorn  and  peanuts  and 
ice-cream  and  ginger  beer,  and  with  difficulty 
refrained  from  investing  in  the  toy  balloons 
and  riding-whips  which  were  offered  by  diligent 
and  vociferous  venders.  Then  they  entered 
"  Floral  Hall,"  with  its  long  tables  spread 
with  appetizing  fruits  and  viands  which  must 
not  be  touched;  its  silk  crazy-quilts  and  sofa- 
pillows  which  Peggy  declared  none  but  a  crazy 
person  would  desire  to  touch;  its  tidies  and 
rugs;  its  home-made  oil-paintings  and  hosts 
of  other  products  of  the  rural  artist. 

Not  the  least  interesting  part  of  the  day's 
programme   were   the   meetings   between   old 


AMUSEMENTS  217 

acquaintances,  and  the  friendly  spirit  that  pre- 
vailed everywhere. 

"Hullo,  how  be  ye?"  asked  an  embattled 
farmer  of  two  buxom  women.  "  How's  Eben  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Eben's  well,  now,"  replied  one  of  them. 

"  Got  done  harvestin'  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  long  ago.  We're  gaddin'  a  little 
this  month,  —  payin'  off  all  the  visits  we've 
had  this  year." 

"  Wai,  ye  better  gad  up  our  way  a  spell." 

"  Oh,  we  don't  owe  you  no  gads,"  laughed 
the  woman,  scurrying  out  of  the  way  of  a  big 
touring-car  that  was  almost  upon  her.  "  My 
land !  What  would  become  o'  me  if  that  thing 
was  to  run  over  me,  s'pose?  " 

"  I  d'no',"  called  the  man  across  the  track. 
"  Depends  on  how  ye've  lived,  I  reckon." 

And  then  they  went  out  again  and  climbed 
into  their  carriage  by  the  fence  and  watched 
the  races  —  the  foot-race,  the  bicycle-race,  and, 
shall  we  confess  it  ?  Yes,  the  horse-races. 


218  SPINSTER   FARM 

For  one  may  not  attend  the  county  fair 
without  doing  one  of  two  things:  one  enters 
into  the  spirit  of  the  thing,  or  one  doesn't; 
one  must  either  become  a  part  of  the  common 
holiday  and  be  a  factor  in  the  festivity,  or  by 
holding  oneself  superior  to  it  all  lose  the  real  fla- 
vour and  enjoyment  of  the  day.  Are  we  not  all 
interdependent,  one  upon  another,  and  is  there 
any  real  excuse  for  mental  aloofness  from  one's 
neighbour  ? 

There  may  be  a  highly  immoral  side  to  the 
horse-racing  at  a  county  fair  but  it  is  not 
evident  to  the  womenfolk.  And  to  one  who 
knows  a  horse  only  by  jogging  quietly  along 
the  rural  highways  and  hedges  it  is  a  decidedly 
novel  and  stimulating  experience.  The  Spinster 
and  Peggy  found  themselves  fascinated  and 
thrilled  by  it  as  they  watched  the  beautiful 
animals  tear  along  the  track,  guided  by  their 
skilful  drivers  and  showing  in  every  nerve  that 
they  were  as  anxious  to  win  as  any  human 


AMUSEMENTS  219 

being  could  be  to  have  them.  The  racer  is 
alive  with  the  spirit  of  rivalry,  and  a  delicately 
organized  thoroughbred  is  as  eager  to  reach 
the  goal  ahead  of  her  competitors  as  her  driver. 
Watching  such  a  horse  enter  into  the  spirit, 
one  can  easily  understand  how  it  is  that  a  high- 
bred racer  may  die  of  heartbreak  when  it 
is  beaten  at  last  after  becoming  accustomed 
to  winning,  as  sometimes  happens. 

There  were  some  good  horses  out  that  day, 
among  them  being  an  Elysium  colt  owned 
and  driven  by  one  of  their  neighbours.  Peggy 
became  so  excited  when  he  made  his  appearance 
on  the  track  that  she  could  keep  her  seat  only 
with  the  greatest  difficulty.  So  long  as  he  had 
loitered  around  the  starting-point  blanketed 
or  taking  gentle  exercise,  she  had  not  noticed 
him,  but  when  she  found  him  actually  in  the 
race  she  forgot  to  watch  the  others.  There 
were  six  two-year-olds  in  the  class,  and  as  the 
little  brown  one  gained,  gained,  gained,  each 


220  SPINSTER   FARM 

time  around,  and  finally  came  in  second  at  the 
last,  she  jumped  from  the  carriage  and  hurried 
over  to  pet  the  creature  and  offer  her  con- 
gratulations; but  she  found  that  instead  of 
standing  there  to  receive  her,  the  colt  was 
burbd  in  blankets  and  congratulations  and 
hurried  off  to  be  rubbed  down  and  cared  for 
as  tenderly  as  a  new-born  babe.  And  she  made 
the  discovery  that  a  high-bred  racer  is  groomed 
and  petted  and  "  kept  in  cotton-wool,"  she 
told  the  Spinster  afterwards;  for  an  animal 
whose  money  value  runs  up  well  into  the 
hundreds  or  the  thousands  is  not  apt  to  be 
neglected  or  ill-treated.  The  best  trainers  take 
into  account,  to-day,  not  alone  the  physical 
needs  of  such  a  horse,  but  its  nervous  tempera- 
ment, its  intelligence,  even  its  affectionate 
disposition,  realizing  that  any  delicately  organ- 
ized animal  may  easily  be  ruined  by  unkindness. 
"  I  declare,"  exclaimed  Peggy  as  she  climbed 
back  into  her  seat,  and  watched  the  next  race, 


AMUSEMENTS  221 

in  which  the  horses  were  attached  to  buggies 
and  driven  by  women,  "  I  would  love  to  drive 
on  the  track  myself.  Aunt  Janet,  I  must  have 
a  trotter;  or  no,  — I  mustn't.  For,  I  am  sure, 
I  should  degenerate  into  a  jockey  within  a 
month." 

"  I  think  you'd  better  stick  to  hens,"  laughed 
the  Spinster,  "  or  painting;  or-  She  did 
not  complete  her  sentence.  "  But  we  can  come 
over  to  the  races,  at  least,  every  year,  can't 
we?" 

"Urn, — yes"  answered  Peggy,  with  an 
amused  smile.  But  she  did  not  seem  very 
enthusiastic. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

THE  CONSEQUENCES  TO  PEGGY 

DEAR  SALLIE:  —  Most  certainly  will  I  give 
you  particulars  in  full  with  regard  to  my 
engagement.  And  perhaps  you  are  not  so 
sorry  as  you  think.  As  I  said  in  my  postscript, — 
Jack  is  mine.  Moreover  he  is  mine  with  the 
full  consent  of  the  Thornton  family,  and 
of  Auntie.  And  if  any  misunderstandings 
may  have  come  about,  remember  that  you 
always  would  jump  at  conclusions.  Let  me 
say,  too,  that  your  bit  of  news  with  regard  to 
Robert's  going  to  the  mountains  for  a  rest  were 
quite  superfluous;  for  he  reached  Elysium  be- 
fore your  letter  came. 

Yesterday,  Auntie  and  I  went  to  the  county 

fair,  and  had  the  time  of  our  lives.     We  got 
222 


THE  CONSEQUENCES  TO  PEGGY  223 

home  about  five,  had  an  early  tea,  and  then 
Jack  and  I  went  up  to  my  "  mossy  knoll " 
to  see  the  coming  sunset.  I  took  along  a  book 
and  Jack  just  stretched  himself  at  my  feet,  his 
adoring  eyes  upon  me  while  I  read.  How  lovely 
it  is  to  be  admired ! 

Well,  awhile  afterward,  just  as  the  fleecy 
clouds  on  the  western  horizon  were  taking  on 
the  rosy  sunset  tints,  a  shadow  fell  across  the 
grass  in  front  of  us,  and  a  sudden  voice  made 
me  drop  my  book.  I  was  on  my  feet  in  an 
instant  and  the  next  minute  both  Robert 
Graves'  arms  were  around  me.  I  would  not 
describe  the  next  hour  if  I  could.  Some  things 
are  too  sacred  for  idle  talk.  But  next  year  7 
shall  probably  be  the  mistress  of  your  little 
cottage  down  by  the  sea !  Now  what  do  you 
think  of  that?  Robert  says  he  would  never 
have  given  in  and  taken  the  first  steps  toward 
reconciliation,  if  you  had  not  made  him  half 
frantic  with  hints  of  "  that  Jack  Thornton," 


224  SPINSTER   FARM 

and  when  the  story  of  his  saving  my  life  reached 
him  (with  my  postscript),  he  just  started  for 
Elysium.  And  all  I  can  say  is  that,  while  I 
knew  it  was  a  foolish  quarrel  and  I  was  the 
most  at  fault,  perhaps  I  knew  what  Jack  would 
do  for  me.  So,  thanking  you  for  the  inter- 
meddling that  has  restored  to  me  my  Robert, 
Humbly  your 

PEGGY. 

P.  S.  —  I  always  save  the  cream  of  my  letters 
for  the  postscript.  What  about  Jack  ? 

Why,  nothing;  I  shall  take  him  down  to 
see  you  all  next  week,  when  Robert  goes  back, 
and  then  you  can  judge  for  yourself  if  I  have 
written  aught  concerning  him  that  was  not 
strictly  true.  He  certainly  has  lovely  brown 
eyes,  soft  curling  hair,  noble  qualities,  and  is 
of  gentle  birth,  — as  dogs  go. 

For  Jack  is  a  full-blooded  Scotch  collie. 
Yours  willing  to  be  forgiven, 

PEGGY. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

WINTER  AT  SPINSTER  FARM 

THE  Spinster  had  been  too  wise  to  ask  any 
questions  when  she  saw  that  Robert  Graves 
and  Peggy  had  ceased  to  write,  when  he  went 
away  to  New  York;  for  she  knew  that  while 
there  was  a  lively  correspondence  going  on  be- 
tween his  sister  and  Peggy,  there  was  reason- 
able hope  that  everything  would  come  out  well. 
The  Spinster  had  been  young  herself;  and  she 
had  suffered  from  the  over-officiousness  of  well- 
meaning  relatives.  Perhaps  she  was  all  the 
more  tender  toward  Peggy  for  that  reason,  but 
anyway  she  would  ask  no  questions  until  Peggy 
came  to  her  of  her  own  accord.  When  Robert 
made  a  sudden  appearance  at  the  farm,  that 

225 


226  SPINSTER   FARM 

day  in  early  Autumn,  she  wondered  a  little,  but 
welcomed  him  as  if  he  had  been  coming  out  for 
week-ends  all  Summer,  His  first  question, 
naturally,  was: 

"Where's  Peggy?" 

"  I  think  you  will  find  her  up  on  that  knoll," 
she  answered.  "  She  went  there  half  an  hour 
ago." 

"  Is  she  —  is  she  alone?  "  he  asked. 

"  Alone?  "  returned  the  Spinster,  wondering, 
"  why,  yes,  I  think  so.  Except  Jack.  I  think 
he  went,"  she  added. 

Now  she  knew  nothing  about  the  little 
romance  that  Peggy  had  concocted,  and  could 
not  know  that  what  she  said  made  Robert's 
courage  shake;  she  just  happened  to  add, 
casually  and  out  of  the  goodness  of  her  heart: 

"  Go  right  along.  Peggy  will  be  delighted 
to  see  you." 

"  Do  you  really  think  she  will?  "  he  asked, 
wistfully. 


WINTER   AT   SPINSTER   FARM  227 

"  I  know  she  will,"  said  the  Spinster.  "  She'll 
be  wild.  But  go  on.  You  don't  deserve  a 
welcome  unless  you  go  after  it." 

It  was  an  hour  later,  just  as  the  dusk  was 
falling  and  the  Spinster  was  toasting  her  feet 
at  the  freshly  kindled  open  fire,  that  the  two 
came  in  at  the  side  door  and  stole  softly  over 
to  where  she  sat. 

"  Robert  and  I  have  something  to  tell  you, 
Auntie,"  began  Peggy. 

The  Spinster  laid  her  hand  quietly  over  on  the 
girl's  shapely  brown  ones. 

"  There  is  no  need  of  telling,  dear ;  I've 
seen  it  all  along,  and  I'm  glad." 

For,  as  I  said,  the  Spinster  had  been  young. 
Perhaps  it  was  because  her  own  short  romance 
had  not  lived  that  she  was  so  tender  of  Peggy. 
They  spoke  no  more  in  the  gloaming,  and  ere 
long  the  Spinster  left  them  there  by  the  fireside, 
in  the  flush  of  love's  young  dream. 

But  Peggy's  words  made  it  necessary  for  the 


228  SPINSTER   FARM 

Spinster  to  rearrange  her  own  plans  for  the 
future.  Should  she  give  up  the  Farm  and  go 
back  to  apartments  in  town,  with  the  attend- 
ant strain  and  outward  excitement  but  inward 
craving  for  peace  and  the  truer  inner  life?  Or 
should  she  settle  down  to  a  quiet,  uneventful 
life  at  Spinster  Farm,  mellowing  into  old  age 
imperceptibly,  after  Nature's  own  way?  She 
recalled  the  hustle  and  hurry  of  the  old  days, 
when  the  mad  rush  after  excitement  in  some  form 
or  other  had  left  no  room  for  the  real  things  of 
life  —  when  the  new  books  must  all  be  put 
away  for  an  indefinite  future  reading,  the  old 
ones  must  remain  unopened;  even  the  old 
friendships  must  be  allowed  to  perish  for  want 
of  time  —  and,  worse  yet,  when  the  physical 
strain  of  modern  living  had  reduced  her  to  a 
state  of  exhaustion.  Then  she  recounted  again 
the  dear  delights  of  Spinster  Farm  —  its  refresh- 
ing silences,  its  ample  leisure,  its  atmosphere 
of  home,  its  opportunities  for  friendship,  both 


WINTER   AT    SPINSTER    FARM  229 

in  the  world  of  living  people  and  the  world  of 
books.  She  remembered  again  her  open  fire- 
places and  their  comfort ;  for  is  there  anything 
like  an  open  fire  in  the  country  on  a  stormy 
day?  Outside,  the  wind  howls  around  the 
corner  and  tosses  the  wet  overhanging  branches, 
the  low- skirling  clouds  shut  out  the  light  and 
the  drip,  drip,  drip  of  incessant  rain  conspires 
to  bring  gloom  and  depression  to  the  human 
heart.  But  inside,  the  cheerful  flashing  of  the 
firelight  across  the  home  walls  atone  for  the 
vanished  sunlight  and  invite  one  to  take  a 
book,  and  sit  by  the  fireplace  and  dream.  She 
recalled  the  intimacies  of  Mother  Nature  and 
her  plentiful  healings,  the  visits  of  friends, 
her  "  own  particular"  reading  -  corner,  and, 
above  all,  her  ever-increasing  love  for  the  old 
house  and  all  it  had  brought  her.  And,  being  a 
true  disciple  of  Nature,  her  decision  to  stay  on 
at  Spinster  Farm  was  not  long  delayed. 
The  true  nature-lover  will  not  think  he  is  on 


230  SPINSTER   FARM 

really  intimate  terms  with  his  mistress  until  he 
knows  the  delights  and  the  revelations  of  a 
Winter  with  her.  One  may  go  out  from  the  city 
for  a  day  or  two,  but  that  does  not  bring  the 
close  companionship,  the  sense  of  kinship,  that 
comes  from  living,  day  after  day  and  night 
after  night,  out  in  the  open  country.  One  must 
know  the  manifold  moods  of  nature  in  storm 
and  blizzard,  in  gray  days  and  golden  sunshine, 
in  moonlit,  snowy  nights  and  dark,  stormy 
ones,  and  realize  that  there  is  no  sameness, 
no  dreary  monotony  to  Winter;  that  because 
trees  are  bare  they  are  the  more  graceful  in 
their  delicate  tracery;  while  bird  songs  seem 
to  be  hushed,  there  is  still  a  close  interdepend- 
ence between  the  Winter  wren  and  chickadee 
and  blue  jay  and  the  humanitarian  human; 
that  it  is  in  the  Winter  that  one  realizes  his  furry 
forest  friends  and  comes  to  know  the  various 
trails  of  the  fox  and  the  skunk,  the  muskrat 
and  the  rabbit,  the  weasel  and  the  deer.  In 


WINTER   AT   SPINSTER   FARM  231 

the  deep  pine  woods  may  be  seen  flocks  of  quail, 
the  "Bob  White"  of  Summer  —  now  silent, 
huddling  together  under  the  encircling  trees, 
or  venturing  out  into  the  open  fields  where 
hang  the  ghosts  of  last  Summer's  flowers,  their 
seed-vessels  supplying  the  birds  with  the  Win- 
ter's food.  Or  one  may  catch  sight  of  a  fox, 
russet-dim,  and  gliding  with  drooping  brush 
noiselessly  along  hillsides.  Into  the  evergreen 
branches,  too,  flits  the  pine  grosbeak,  watching 
narrowly  the  human  invader  of  his  sanctuary; 
and  the  wild  rabbit,  clad  in  Winter  coat  of 
white  fur,  whisks  under  cover  so  quickly  that 
you  wonder  whether  anything  really  did 
happen. 

It  was  a  snow  Winter,  that  first  one  at 
Spinster  Farm,  when  the  birds  learned  to  come 
close  to  the  house  for  their  daily  rations.  Cau- 
tiously at  first  they  came,  one  or  two  at  a  time, 
but  by  degrees  the  flock  increased  until  Peggy 
had  but  to  call  from  the  back  porch,  "  Chicka- 


232  SPINSTER   FARM 

dee-dee-dee-dee  —  "  and  dozens  of  them  would 
appear.  Wheat,  cracked  corn,  table-crumbs 
and  scraps  of  meat  were  always  at  hand,  and 
when  she  finally  tried  the  expedient  of  tying 
strips  of  suet  —  trimmings  from  their  own 
uncooked  steaks  and  roasts  —  to  a  small  tree 
at  the  side  of  the  porch,  which  came  to  be 
known  in  the  family  as  the  "  bong -tree,"  she 
became  known  apparently  to  the  whole  bird 
population  as  a  very  present  help  in  time  of 
trouble. 

"  Chickadee-dee-dee,"  she  would  call.  Pres- 
ently would  come  the  answer,  "  Chickadee- 
dee-dee,"  once,  twice,  a  dozen  times  repeated. 
Then  they  would  alight  on  the  tree  a  few  feet 
away,  chattering  and  answering  her  clear  call. 
In  a  few  days  the  birds,  several  at  a  time,  were 
eating  in  the  tree  close  by  her  side,  and  then 
came  a  day  when  one  venturesome  little  fellow 
hopped  upon  her  shoulder  and  down  to  her  hand, 
whereon  lay  the  tempting  wheat.  Then  another 


WINTER   AT    SPINSTER   FARM  233 

came  and  another,  and  from  that  time  on  it 
was  a  common  sight  for  the  wee  feathered 
things  to  eat  their  breakfasts  from  her  hands, 
arms,  shoulders,  or  even  her  pretty  hair.  The 
little  redstarts,  too,  followed  suit,  and  the  great 
saucy  blue  jays  came  to  the  near-by  bushes  and 
waited  for  their  portion  to  be  scattered,  calling 
to  their  fellows  from  other  fields.  Twenty  of 
these  beautiful  blue,  iridescent-backed  gluttons 
at  one  time,  eagerly  storing  away  the  corn  in 
throat  and  cheek,  to  be  eaten  from  a  neighbour- 
ing tree,  was  no  uncommon  sight.  With  a 
view  to  photographing  them,  she  fed  them 
regularly  from  the  window  of  the  living-room, 
gradually  accustoming  them  to  her  presence 
behind  the  panes.  They  even  got  acquainted 
with  the  great  yellow  cat,  "  Buffy,"  and  regarded 
him  without  fear  as  he  sat  watching  from  the 
inside  window-ledge,  but  when  Peggy  placed 
her  camera  where  it  focussed  their  feeding- 
ground,  they  took  fright  and  flew  away. 


234  SPINSTER   FARM 

"  I'll  leave  it  there  for  a  few  hours  and  let 
them  become  accustomed  to  it,"  she  said. 
And  did,  but  to  no  avail.  They  would  never 
approach  the  house  with  the  camera  in  sight, 
no  matter  how  hungry  they  might  be,  preferring 
to  risk  anything  rather  than  expose  themselves 
to  the  instrument. 

"  Oh,  that  some  women  I  know  were  like 
them,"  the  Spinster  used  to  groan.  But  let 
Peggy  remove  that  camera  and  every  jay  that 
had  been  hovering  among  the  apple-trees, 
with  reinforcements  from  the  neighbouring 
wood,  descended  in  a  flock  upon  the  scattered 
corn,  devouring  it  rapaciously.  Before  it  was 
possible  to  "  press  the  button  "  the  jays  were 
awray  on  the  wings  of  the  wind,  and  Peggy  was 
forced  to  do  without  photographs.  As  the 
camera  was  not  four  inches  square,  and  as 
inconspicuous  as  it  could  be,  she  had  to  wonder 
at  the  astuteness  of  the  birds.  For,  at  that 
time,  Peggy  did  not  know,  any  better  than  they, 


WINTER   AT    SPINSTER   FARM  235 

that  she  could  not  get  a  picture  through  glass 
with  her  little  kodak. 

There  was  one  day,  when  a  blizzard,  straight 
from  the  northeast,  howled  around  the  house, 
and  the  Spinster  looked  from  out  the  living- 
room  into  the  sheltered  corner  where  a  tangle 
of  rose-bushes  huddled  under  a  big  spruce-tree. 
There  sat  a  big  blue  jay  cuddled  close  on  a 
swaying  bough  so  near  the  window  that  she 
could  see  that,  outside  of  his  thick  coat  of 
feathers,  he  was  protected  by  a  fluffy  and  almost 
invisible  covering  of  down.  The  wind  swept 
down  upon  him  with  such  force  that  it  seemed 
as  if  he  must  let  go  his  hold  and  be  blown  away 
across  the  lawn,  the  sport  of  wild  Boreas.  But 
he  only  shut  his  eyes  and  held  on  the  closer,  as 
if  he  knew  the  Heavenly  Father  was  at  the 
helm,  —  One  who  "  careth  for  these."  And 
so  the  Spinster  got  a  new  lesson  in  trust. 

Peggy  went  out  at  sundown,  when  the  mercury 
fell  below  zero,  and  tried  to  steal  upon  the 


236  SPINSTER   FARM 

bunch  of  blue  feathers  unawares,  with  the 
laudable  purpose  of  shutting  him  up  in  a  warm 
place  for  the  night.  But  the  blue  jay  was  off 
in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  where  none  could 
follow.  They  worried  about  him  a  little  during 
the  night  watches  when  the  northeaster  shook 
the  old  house  and  piled  the  snow  higher  and 
higher,  swirling  it  into  great  drifts,  burying  the 
shrubbery  and  obliterating  all  traces  of  the 
road;  but  when  they  came  down  to  breakfast, 
there  he  sat  serene  and  happy  in  his  corner, 
just  as  if  there  had  been  no  blizzard,  no  howling 
wind,  no  anything  but  happiness  in  the  world. 
And  the  Spinster  declared  she  would  never 
worry  again,  about  anything. 

There  was  a  big  golden  ring-neck  pheasant, 
too,  who  came  for  his  dinners  during  the  coldest 
weather,  and  every  day  she  placed  corn  and 
hay  seed  from  the  stable  floor  at  the  foot  of  the 
grassy  slope  to  eastward.  She  was  obliged  to 
put  out  many  times  a  double  ration,  for  the 


WINTER   AT   SPINSTER   FARM  237 

greedy,  saucy,  lovable  jays  were  watching,  and 
descended  upon  it  almost  before  her  back  was 
turned.  Two  crows,  who  lived  in  the  walnut 
pasture  all  Winter,  depended  upon  that  spread 
for  their  living  also,  and  Peggy  derived  great 
amusement  from  the  habits  of  her  feathered 
friends.  The  pheasant  was  king  of  all.  When 
he  came  all  the  others  retreated  to  a  safe  dis- 
tance. Second  in  rank  were  the  crows,  and 
when  they  chose  to  feed,  the  blue  jays  were 
forced  to  settle  on  trees  and  count  the  disappear- 
ing mouthfuls  until  the  crows  were  satisfied- 
Then  came  the  turn  of  the  jays;  but  they  are 
much-maligned  birds,  for  instead  of  driving 
away  the  wrens  and  chickadees,  according 
to  some  writers,  they  seemed  to  be  quite  willing 
to  share  with  them.  Whether  this  was  due  to 
a  really  charitable  spirit,  or  only  because  the 
tiny  birds  could  not  eat  the  whole  corn,  which  is 
the  choice  of  the  jays,  was  not  apparent.  Occa- 
sionally a  squirrel  came,  too,  and  seized  upon 


238  SPINSTER   FARM 

the  corn,  but  there  were  few  days  when  the 
spry  little  fellow  ventured  out  of  his  warm 
underground  nest. 

The  two  crows  were  Peggy's  especial  pets. 
One  day  during  the  previous  October,  when 
she  was  gathering  chestnuts  in  the  pasture, 
she  had  come  across  a  crow  which  lay  partly 
under  and  had  evidently  been  caught  by  a 
rolling  stone  from  the  wall  close  by.  Apparently 
he  had  been  there  for  several  days,  unable  to 
extricate  himself.  Carefully  Peggy  removed 
the  stone,  and  the  crow  hopped  off,  limping, 
to  a  safe  distance.  She  left  him  there,  free  in 
the  woods.  A  week  later,  as  Peggy  returned 
from  the  post-office,  listening,  according  to  her 
wont,  to  the  "  voices  of  the  air,"  she  heard  a 
subdued  "  caw."  She  turned  and  espied  on  a 
neighbouring  stone  a  sleek  crow  that  limped  as 
he  hopped  about  looking  for  food.  When  she 
spoke  to  him  he  flew  away  toward  the  pasture. 
All  Winter  this  bird  and  one  other  came  to  the 


WINTER   AT    SPINSTER   FARM  239 

foot  of  the  lawn  after  their  share  of  the  grain 
that  was  put  out. 

"  I'd  shoot  him  if  I  were  you,"  said  Hiram. 
"  He'll  only  make  trouble  for  you  next  Summer, 
Awful  mischievous,  crows  be."  But  the  birds 
were  safe  and  seemed  to  know  it.  And  Hiram 
lived  to  learn  what  many  farmers  are  learning, 
that  the  crow,  instead  of  being  his  enemy,  is 
his  benefactor,  eating  thousands  of  grubs 
that  do  harm  to  early  crops  and  fruit-trees. 

The  snow  was  deep  that  year,  and  for  weeks 
the  roads  were  drifted.  The  Benjamin  road, 
that  beautiful  English-looking  lane  that  led 
down  from  the  front  lawn  at  Spinster  Farm, 
winding  away  into  obscurity  somewhere,  en- 
chanting as  it  was  in  Summer  in  its  wildness, 
was  filled  from  fence  to  fence  with  the  white, 
drifting  snow.  The  main  road  to  westward, 
too,  was  piled  full,  so  that  the  tops  of  the  bush- 
tangles  along  the  edges  scarcely  showed  at  all 
And  Peggy  had  great  fun  watching  the  men 


240  SPINSTER   FARM 

break  out  the  roadways  after  every  great  storm. 
But  what  cared  they,  in  their  cosy,  warm  house, 
with  plenty  of  books  and  music  and  Peggy's 
work  and  the  Spinster's  various  industries? 

The  early  beginnings  of  Spring  were  a  revela- 
tion to  Peggy.  Before  the  snow  fairly  began  to 
melt  there  was  a  soft,  mysterious  haze  in  the 
sunny  days,  when  the  swamp  alders  and  willows 
began  to  take  on  a  red  and  yellow  flush.  One 
morning  Peggy  came  in  with  eyes  aglow  and  said : 

"I  do  believe  Pan  himself  is  abroad  this 
morning.  Come  out  and  hear  his  pipes  faintly 
blown  down  on  the  wind."  Together  they  went 
to  the  north  porch  and  stood.  The  world  lay 
wrapped  in  white,  sunny  silence.  The  beauty 
of  it  seemed  to  atone  for  the  zero  days  before, 
when  all  nature  was  gripped  in  the  icy  hold  of 
Winter.  Then  suddenly  from  afar  came  the 
piping  call: 

"  Hoo-hoo-hoo ! " 

So  sweet  and  soft  and  faint  it  was  that  it 


WINTER   AT   SPINSTER   FARM  241 

seemed  the  very  spirit  of  the  distant  woods 
echoing  across  the  ice-bound  field. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Peggy  in  hushed  voice. 

"  The  Spring  call  of  the  blue  jays,  dear," 
answered  her  aunt.  "  No  wonder  you  ask, 
after  his  strident  cry  of  the  Winter  and  his  shrill 
scream  of  last  Summer.  But  when  the  beautiful, 
noisy  gentleman  jay  begins  to  think  of  nesting 
time,  he  can  woo  as  sweetly  as  the  dove  itself.'* 

"  I  do  believe  the  rascal  has  found  where 
Pan  keeps  his  pipes,"  replied  Peggy.  "  He 
wouldn't  hesitate  to  steal  them,  either."  And 
then  she  strapped  on  her  snow-shoes  and  set 
off  across  the  pasture,  calling  in  her  own  soft, 
clear  voice,  "  Hoo-hoo-hoo,"  until  she  soon  had 
the  jays  answering.  And  truly  no  male  creature 
could  fail  to  respond  to  Peggy  that  morning, 
as  she  skimmed  the  deep  snowdrifts,  her  cheeks 
glowing,  her  eyes  alight  with  health  and  innocent 
pleasure,  her  mobile  lips  red  as  a  June  cherry, 
her  every  motion  the  embodiment  of  grace. 


242  SPINSTER   FARM 

The  snow  went  gradually  that  year,  melting 
away  beneath  the  warm  rays  of  the  sun  rather 
than  washing  away  in  Spring  floods.  The  blue 
jay  increased  his  vocabulary  of  love  and  the 
bluebird's  note  was  heard,  followed  by  the 
blackbird's  "  O-ka-lee-e-e-e,"  and  the  robins 
in  flocks;  then  came  an  army  of  Spring  birds, 
making  the  whole  air  merry  with  song.  Here 
and  there  the  upspringing  grass  showed  green 
through  the  brownness  of  the  Winter's  leavings. 
Arbutus  buds  rewarded  their  search  as  Peggy 
and  the  Spinster  wandered  through  the  pastures 
and  woods  adjacent.  Hepaticas  appeared, 
and  then  Spring  was  upon  them.  And  the 
Spinster  went  about  humming  an  old  bit  of 
song  she  remembered  hearing  her  father  sing 
when  she  was  a  little  girl : 

"  The  Springtime  of  year  is  coming,  coming, 

Birds  are  singing  blithe  and  gay ; 
Insects  bright  are  humming,  humming, 
And  all  the  world  is  gay,  love  — 
All  the  world  is  gay." 


CHAPTER   XIX 

THE  SPINSTER  TO  THE  PROFESSOR 

MY  DEAR  PROFESSOR  :  —  (Wrote  the  Spinster 
about  this  time,  for  there  was  plenty  of  leisure 
for  letter-writing  in  the  early  Spring)  You  want 
to  know  whether  I  am  not  really  and  truly  sick 
of  my  bargain,  do  you?  You  think  I  am  too 
proud  to  retreat  and  say  the  country  in  Winter 
is  too  much  for  me,  and  that  I  would  give 
anything  I  haven't  got  to  be  rid  of  my  old  farm. 
I  wonder  if  you  will  believe  when  I  say  no,  a 
thousand  times  no.  On  the  contrary,  I  feel 
that  I  am  almost  selfish  to  stay  out  here  and 
enjoy  myself  so  thoroughly.  That  is  the  result 
of  having  generations  of  New  England  con- 
sciences behind  one  —  even  a  degenerate  cannot 


244  SPINSTER   FARM 

give  oneself  up  to  unreserved  enjoyment.  I 
wonder  if  it  is  really  shirking  my  duty  to  the 
world  of  strenuous  endeavour  to  live  here  so 
peaceably.  Thank  Heaven,  my  doctor  says  I 
must.  That's  the  way  I  salve  my  conscience 
when  it  stirs  too  uncomfortably. 

Seriously,  I  am  questioning  if  half  the 
activities  of  the  modern  woman  are  wise.  We 
rush  wildly  from  one  thing  to  another  without 
assimilating  what  we  take  in  or  what  we  give 
out.  No  matter  what  we  have,  we  want  more, 
or  want  it  different.  We  are  a  restless,  unsatis- 
fied lot.  Our  aims  are  complicated  and  vague ; 
our  desires  limitless  and  superfluous.  Some 
day  there  will  arise  a  woman  great  enough  to 
make  absolute  simplicity  the  fashion,  and 
strong  enough  to  live  it  so  beautifully  that  every 
other  woman  will  follow  her.  Yes;  we  have 
had,  and  do  still  have  sharp  weather,  but  you 
cannot  make  January  of  March.  The  sun  has 
a  new  warming  power,  there  is  a  flush  of  colour 


SPINSTER   TO    THE   PROFESSOR  245 

in  the  swamps  and  meadows,  and  now  and 
then  a  new  bird  appears  to  tell  you  that  Spring 
is  on  the  way.  Bluebirds  have  been  warbling 
for  a  week,  and  now  and  then  there  is  a  flash  of 
cerulean  across  the  orchard;  or  perhaps  it  is 
a  fat,  red-breasted  fellow  stepping  about  under 
the  apple-trees,  sharing  in  your  joy  to  be  back 
in  the  old  haunts  again.  Two  or  three  Sundays 
ago,  there  was  just  snow  enough  on  the  ground 
to  enable  us  in  our  walks  or  drives  to  see  the 
tracks  of  the  small  folk  who  live  in  the  woods 
all  winter.  There  were  pheasant  tracks  up  from 
the  pasture  and  across  the  front  lawn  and  on 
again  through  the  orchard ;  there  were  squirrel 
and  rabbit  trails,  and  in  the  neighbour's  pasture 
the  trampled  paths  made  by  four  deer  who 
have  lived  there  all  winter  and  come  out  to  dig 
under  the  snow  for  frozen  apples.  But  since 
then  the  snow  has  melted  and  the  forest  folk 
glide  across  the  fields  swiftly  and  silently, 
leaving  no  trace  behind. 


246  SPINSTER   FARM 

Yesterday  there  was  a  sleet-storm  straight 
from  the  northeast,  half  deceiving  us  into  the 
belief  that  at  last  we  are  going  to  get  that  long- 
delayed  blizzard.  But  with  the  morning  came 
clearing  weather  and  a  transfigured  world. 
For  everything  —  trees,  shrubs,  stone  walls, 
fences,  even  the  tall  grasses  had  the  coat  of  ice, 
glistening  like  so  much  glass.  The  old  spruce, 
at  the  corner  of  the  house,  which  forms  a 
landmark  for  miles  of  rolling  country,  was 
frosted  with  royal  gems.  The  sumach-tree 
at  the  back  porch,  where  for  three  years  the 
little  birds  have  found  winter  rations  —  named 
by  the  family  the  "  bong-tree,"  was  ice-bound 
also,  and  the  marrow-bones  were  hard  and 
glittering  when  the  little  downy  woodpecker 
came  for  his  breakfast.  Several  chickadees 
were  waiting  in  the  syringa  and  a  fat  robin  flew 
over  from  somewhere  and  alighted  on  an  elm  in 
the  hollow,  to  wait  with  the  others  for  the  sun 
to  appear  through  the  clouds  and  get  breakfast 


SPINSTER    TO    THE    PROFESSOR  247 

ready.  And  not  far  away  somewhere  the 
melodious  warble  of  a  bluebird  was  teaching 
us  that  old  truth  that  behind  the  cloud  the  sun 
still  shines;  and  that  we  have  only  to  wait  a 
little  when  things  look  encouraging  and  the 
good  things  of  life  that  we  sigh  for  will  be  all 
ready  for  us. 

All  winter  as  our  regular  pensioners  we  had 
two  crows,  a  dozen  blue  jays,  a  number  of 
chickadees  and  two  little  downy  woodpeckers. 
There  was  always  a  good  beef-bone  tied  to 
the  "  bong-tree  "  and  they  all  helped  themselves ; 
the  jays  slyly,  when  they  thought  no  one  was 
around;  the  others  boldly.  We  could  step  to 
the  back  porch  and  cry  "  Chickadee-dee-dee  " 
and  the  bits  of  fluffy  things  would  come  flying 
down  to  meet  us.  The  woodpeckers  would  not 
come  so  close,  but  did  not  mind  a  bit  being 
within  ten  feet  or  so  of  their  stewards.  But 
the  jays  would  fly  across  the  road  and  scold, 
never  seeming  to  comprehend  that  they  owed 


248  SPINSTER   FARM 

us,  at  least,  polite  treatment.  The  blue  jays 
peck  at  the  bones,  when  nothing  in  the  line  of 
cereals  offer,  but  they  like,  best  of  all,  a  good 
ear  of  corn.  When  we  had  exhausted  our 
small  store  of  ears  we  filled  a  little  tin  cup  with 
cracked  corn  and  tied  it  into  the  crotch  of  a 
tree.  Then  what  consternation  reigned  !  The 
little  birds  soon  ventured,  but  the  jays  could  not 
bring  themselves  to  come  so  near  what  might 
be  a  trap,  for  several  days.  Then  one  nice 
respectable-looking  female,  hungrier,  perhaps, 
or  more  venturesome,  came,  apparently  alone, 
and  alighted  cautiously  on  the  tip-top  of  the 
"  bong-tree."  But  before  she  had  made  a 
"  good  square  meal "  three  or  four  gaudy 
males  swooped  down  and  crowded  her  away, 
and  began  to  gobble  up  the  rest  of  the  supper. 
Another  case  of  "  the  woman  tempting  me  and 
I  did  eat."  And  then  I  found  that  the  blue 
rascals  had  been  hidden  in  the  spruce  all  the 
time,  waiting  to  see  if  anything  hurt  her  before 


SPINSTER   TO    THE    PROFESSOR  249 

they  risked  their  jauntinesses  at  that  bright 
and  shining  cup;  and  finding  that  she  had 
"  found  a  good  thing,"  were  now  ready  to 
swoop  down  and  enjoy  it.  I  suppose  if  Eve's 
adventure  with  the  apple  had  proved  an  un- 
mitigated good,  Adam  would  have  managed 
to  take  the  glory  of  it,  even  to  the  millionth 
generation. 

Do  you  know  the  sweet,  vague  scent  of  the 
spring?  That  indefinable  smell  that  comes 
from  the  earth  almost  before  the  ice  begins  to 
melt?  Do  you  know  the  red  and  the  yellow 
flush  of  the  willows  and  the  alders  before  the 
grass  turns  green  or  the  buds  begin  to  shake 
out?  Do  you  know  the  soft  mellow  haze  that 
settles  against  the  distant  hills  and  melts  them 
into  an  enticing  background  for  the  bare  trees 
and  brown  pastures  and  winding  roads  of  the 
Massachusetts  country  ?  Then  you  know  some- 
thing of  the  delight  of  the  very  beginning  of 
Spring.  And  to  the  true  lover  of  Nature,  who 


250  SPINSTER   FARM 

gets  his  inspiration  from  the  great  outdoors 
instead  of  from  modern  nature-books,  there  is 
nothing  more  delicately  beautiful  or  more 
appealing  to  the  inmost  sense  of  beauty. 
Whether  you  wander  off  into  the  March  sun- 
shine alone,  or  with  some  companion  who  loves 
the  rollicking  wind  and  the  crisp  feel  of  the 
dead  grass  under  the  feet,  a  walk,  or  rather  a 
ramble,  across  the  fields  at  this  time  of  the  year 
affords  a  certain  exhilaration  of  delight  that 
cannot  be  found  by  living  in  crowded  cities 
and  hustling  along  with  other  people  who  live 
there.  I  admit  the  uses  of  mental  friction,  the 
inspiration  of  the  crowd,  if  it  is  not  overdone; 
but  the  intimate  contact  of  the  woods,  the  real 
"  mothering  "  of  Nature  that  can  only  come 
in  the  solitudes,  are  what  help  the  human 
soul  to  really  find  itself,  after  all.  Come  out 
into  the  pasture  and  see  the  trailing  arbutus 
showing  pink,  already,  under  the  chilly  sun- 
shine; poke  away  the  last  year's  leaves  from 


SPINSTER   TO    THE    PROFESSOR  251 

the  little  bunches  of  hepaticas  that  are  just 
ready  to  unfold;  count  up  the  patches  of 
pussy-willows  already  furry  and  growing;  get 
on  the  lee  side  of  the  old  stone  wall  and  listen 
to  the  robin's  "Cheery,  cheery?"  wonder 
where  that  blackbird's  note  comes  from ;  watch 
the  startled  flight  of  the  ring-necked  pheasant 
towards  yonder  brush  pile,  and  count  the 
mercies  in  your  cup. 

What  ?  You  would  die  of  loneliness  ?  Bleak 
and  bare  ?  Then  you  do  not  know 

J.  r- 

P.  S.  — To  be  sure,  just  now  the  new  snow  lies 
deep  and  white  and  still,  but  it  is  not  depressing. 
We  know  it  cannot  last  and  that  as  it  melts, 
which  it  must  suddenly  and  slushily,  it  will 
be  the  greatest  beneficence  to  the  ground 
beneath;  that  the  white  blanket  is  drawing 
the  frost  out  of  the  ground  even  now ;  that  the 
arbutus  buds  are  deepening  their  pink  and  the 


252  SPINSTER   FARM 

hepaticas  already  unfolding  for  their  Spring 
opening,  and  that  snow  as  hard  as  it  can,  the 
sun  is  crossing  the  equinox  and  nothing  can 
prevent  our  having  as  many  hours  of  sunshine 
now  as  there  are  of  dark.  For  Spring  is  in  the 
air,  and  in  our  bones,  and  in  our  heads,  and 
we  want  to  just  go  off  and  write  Spring  poems, 
or  what  is  better  and  more  sensible,  say  over 
to  ourselves  the  best  of  the  immortal  ones  that 
were  written  years  and  years  ago. 

P.  P.  S.  —  The  wedding  is  in  June.  Then 
Peggy  leaves  me,  and  I  shall  be  alone.  Thanks 
for  your  kind  thought,  but  it  is  useless  to  try. 
I  still  remember. 

J- 


CHAPTER   XX 

PEGGY  TO  ROBERT 

DEAR  BOY:  —  Of  course  I  shall  be  glad; 
but  all  the  same  I  shall  always  remember  this 
last  Winter  with  Auntie  as  the  best  —  (yet). 
And  your  week-ends  and  the  little  visit  I  made 
in  New  York  have  added  just  the  finishing 
touch.  And  now  it  is  Spring,  —  and  almost 
June !  I  scarcely  dare  think  of  it ! 

Such  a  house-cleaning  as  Nature  has  been 
giving  us.  The  wind  and  the  rains  and  the 
fresh  out-putting  grass  are  transforming  the 
world  and  we  are  already  counting  the  inches  of 
growth  in  a  day.  In  a  week,  orchards  will  be 
white  and  the  air  redolent  of  the  sweetest  scent 
in  the  world.  Bees  are  coming  to  visit  us  every 

253 


254  SPINSTER    FARM 

day  now.  How  do  they  know?  The  nearest 
hives  to  us  are  more  than  a  mile  away  in  a 
straight  line,  but  when  our  first  crocus  appeared 
-  the  first  blossom  of  any  kind  in  town  —  a 
bee  was  there  extracting  its  nectar  and  as  much 
at  home  as  if  his  hive  stood  in  our  own  door- 
yard.  Who  told  him  ?  Did  the  wind  take  the 
message  across  the  hill  and  over  the  intervening 
strip  of  woods?  Did  a  bird  carry  it  to  him? 
Or  was  it  the  divinely  implanted  instinct  which 
it  is  coming  to  be  the  fashion  in  some  quarters 
to  sneer  at?  Wouldn't  you  just  like  to  know 
the  secrets  of  the  insect  and  the  bird  world  that 
lies  all  around  us  ?  Have  we  any  right  to  arro- 
gate so  much  to  ourselves,  as  if  we  were  the 
only  beings  God  ever  made  with  any  sense? 
Verily,  when  I  look  around  me,  in  some  com- 
pany —  but  there,  I  won't  say  it. 

Again,  speaking  of  house-cleaning,  did  you 
ever  go  through  a  thorough  Spring  house- 
cleaning  in  a  house  that  has  stood  a  century 


PEGGY   TO    ROBERT  255 

and  a  half  or  more  ?  It  is  a  truly  awful  experi- 
ence. There  are  so  many  delightful  features 
about  this  house,  with  its  sense  of  home  comfort, 
its  traditions,  its  big  rooms,  its  cheerful  fire- 
places, its  simple  architectural  dignity,  that  it 
seems  like  going  back  on  a  dear  friend  to  cast 
the  least  reflection  on  it,  even  at  house-cleaning 
time;  but  it  is  to  be  confessed  that  a  house 
which  has  stood  in  sun  and  wind  and  storm 
and  drought  for  so  long  has  collected  dust, 
so  that  the  walls  and  attic  floors  are  just  filled 
with  a  fine,  dry,  powdery  dust  that  sifts  down, 
imperceptibly  but  surely,  to  the  discomfiture 
of  the  housekeeper.  We  have  just  been  through 
a  soul-harrowing  experience  of  that  kind. 
This  house  was  made  "  upon  honour,"  and  the 
original  plaster,  put  on  long  before  the  Revolu- 
tion, is  still  firm  and  intact;  but  in  the  living- 
rooms,  from  time  to  time,  coats  of  whitewash 
have  been  applied  until  at  last  no  more  could 
stay  on,  so  we  decided  to  have  the  ceilings 


256  SPINSTER    FARM 

scraped  this  year  and  fresh  muresco  put  on. 
We  little  knew  what  we  were  in  for.  In  each 
room  the  men  scraped  ceilings  all  day  and  at 
night  carried  out  several  hodfuls  of  old  white- 
wash, which  had  accumulated  until  it  was 
nearly  an  inch  thick.  One  of  our  neighbours 
had  a  similar  experience,  discovering  under 
the  various  coats  of  whitewash  and  sixteen  layers 
of  wall-paper  a  frescoed  design  with  the  Ameri- 
can shield  and  eagle  in  it,  which  must  have 
been  put  there  about  1776;  but  this  house 
having  been  the  property  of  a  Tory,  we  found 
no  such  ebullition  of  patriotism.  We  found 
enough  else.  The  whole  house  was  filled  with 
fine  lime  dust  which  sifted  through  every  crack 
and  knot-hole.  And  as  the  kitchen  had  to  be 
done,  too,  we  came  near  adding  starvation  to 
our  other  sufferings,  especially  as  the  "  lady 
help  "  decided  in  the  midst  of  it  that  the  place 
did  not  suit  her.  It  did  not  suit  me,  but  that 
was  where  she  had  the  advantage.  She  could 


PEGGY   TO   ROBERT  257 

take  her  bag  and  leave  it.  I  couldn't.  And 
again  that  is  where  the  old  proverb,  "  blessed 
be  nothing,"  is  most  heartily  appreciated. 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  for  us  to  "  buckle 
to  "  and  house-clean.  We  swept  and  dusted 
and  wiped  things  off;  we  hustled  around  and 
got  something  to  eat,  although  we  sometimes 
had  to  eat  it  standing;  we  kept  men  scraping 
and  washing  and  murescoing  and  putting  down 
carpets  and  taking  them  up  (no,  the  other 
way) ;  we  washed  dishes  and  hunted  for  things 
which  could  not  be  found ;  we  kept  the  pepper 
and  salt  shakers  on  the  parlour  table,  the  lamps 
in  the  shed,  the  parlour  ornaments  in  the 
pantry.  And  we  kept  cheerful  through  it  all, 
deciding  that  was  the  only  way  we  could 
endure  it  at  all.  There  was  one  morning  when 
Aunt  Janet  was  washing  dishes  in  the  kitchen 
under  the  most  adverse  conditions,  that  she 
burst  forth  into  song;  and  not  until  the  man 
who  was  at  work  on  the  ceiling  burst  into 


258  SPINSTER   FARM 

appreciative  laughter  did  she  realize  that  she 
was  giving  vent  with  deep  fervour  to  "  Lord 
of  the  helpless,  O  abide  with  me."  (Poor 
Auntie !  I  do  hate  to  leave  her  out  here 
all  alone.  If  only  that  youthful  lover  of  hers 
would  come  back.) 

But  we  lived  through,  and  the  old  house  is 
clean  and  sweet  all  through  now,  as  clean  and 
sweet  as  the  country  around  it.  The  blue  hills 
far  away  are  putting  on  a  softer  tint  and,  alas, 
are  hiding  behind  the  fringe  of  trees  across  the 
nearest  hill  —  trees  which  are  shaking  out 
their  spring  garments  and  pluming  themselves 
for  the  June  sunshine.  .  .  . 

(But  the  rest  of  this  letter  is  evidently  not 
meant  for  publication ;  simply  as  an  indication 
of  good  faith.  It  is  entirely  too  personal  for 
print.) 


CHAPTER   XXI 

A  WEDDING  AND  SOME  CONCLUSIONS 

THE  old  house,  which  had  welcomed  and 
sent  forth  its  brides  for  a  hundred  and  fifty 
years,  never  looked  more  hospitable  and  inviting 
than  on  that  bright  day  in  June  when  Peggy 
and  Robert  stood  together  in  the  square  parlour 
and  said  the  magic  words,  and  then  fared  forth 
together  to  meet  the  storms  and  sunshine  of 
life  wherever  fortune  shall  call  them. 

It  was  a  quiet,  home  wedding;  at  least  they 
called  it  so.  But  when  the  guests  that  must  be 
bidden  began  to  arrive  by  train  and  trolley  and 
automobile  and  carriage,  there  were  too  many 
to  crowd  into  the  rooms,  and  so  they  stood 
outside,  and  listened  or  looked  in  through  the 
old-fashioned  panes.  The  house  was  gay  with 

269 


260  SPINSTER   FARM 

flowers,  but  the  rose-garden,  the  shrubs,  the 
flower-garden,  the  fields  were  all  in  blossom 
too,  and  the  air  was  fragrant  everywhere,  with 
birds  singing  and  bees  humming  and  all  nature 
rejoicing. 

"  See  what  it  is  to  be  young ! "  sighed  the 
Spinster,  happily,  as  she  stood  for  a  moment 
under  the  apple-trees  with  the  Professor. 

"  Also,  see  what  it  is  to  be  middle-aged,"  he 
replied  bravely.  "  For,  lovely  as  Peggy  is 
to-day,  she  hasn't  half  the  charm  and  sweetness 
of  her  aunt." 

But  the  Spinster  had  no  time  to  reply.  An- 
other group  of  people  came  out  looking  for  her 
and  she  left  her  vis-a-vis  standing  there  alone. 
And  when  he  saw  her  again,  she  was  kissing 
Peggy  good-bye,  and  handing  her  into  the 
waiting  carriage.  And  when  he  spoke  to  her 
again,  it  was  only  to  say  good-bye,  just  as  the 
automobile  in  which  he  was  returning  whisked 
away  for  Boston. 


A  WEDDING  261 

"  Now,  Janet,"  said  a  friend  who  was 
remaining  with  her  for  the  night,  "  you  will 
have  to  marry,  —  in  self-defence." 

"  N  w,  Euphemia !  "  retorted  the  Spinster 
with  spirit.  "  Don't !  If  there  is  any  one 
mental  staie  more  tiresome  than  another,  it  is 
that  too  common  one  which  presumes  marriage 
to  be  the  only  desirable  havon  for  wTomen  of  all 
ages,  conditions,  and  stages  of  beauty/' 

The  old  friend  laughed.  "  Did  I  ev  tell 
you,"  she  asked,  "that  when  you  mov^d  c;:t 
here  a  considerable  fraction  of  the  people  ve 
know  surmised  that  a  man  was  at  the  bottom 
of  it?" 

"  At  my  age ! "  laughed  the  Spinster  with 
good  nature.  "  I'm  fifty  years  old,  and  I  made 
up  my  mind  twenty-five  years  ago  that  I  would 
never  marry.  I  have  met  many  men,  many 
good  men,  but  it  is  :ne  thing  to  delight  in  enter- 
taining them  socially  at  dinner  or  for  an  evening 
and  quite  another  to  marry  them." 


262  SPINSTER    FARM 

"  Oh,  quite,"  murmured  her  married  friend, 
sotto  voce, 

"  To  give  up  all  one's  own  well-established  no- 
tions and  settled  convictions  after  one  has  become 
thoroughly  set  in  her  ways,  as  Hiram  calls  it, 
is  a  state  of  things  that  no  longer  looks  especially 
attractive  to  the  woman  of  middle  age,  and 
she  does  not  pine  to  exchange  her  life  of  com- 
fortable independence  for  the  privilege  of 
writing  '  Mrs.'  before  her  name  —  unless  there 
are  some  extraordinary  inducements.  Dis- 
appointed in  love  !  "  The  Spinster  laughed. 

"  But  you  can't  convince  men  of  that." 

"  I  have  convinced  several,  first  and  last," 
thought  the  Spinster  to  herself,  but  she  was  not 
of  the  type  that  consoles  her  single  blessedness 
with  boasting  of  many  offers  and  so  she  ignored 
the  statement.  "  Some  day,  when  men  as  well 
as  women  are  more  advanced  in  thought,  a 
little  riper  in  judgment,"  she  went  on,  "  public 
sentiment  is  going  to  progress  in  this  particular. 


A   WEDDING  263 

I  have  found  that  there  are  many  large-hearted, 
large- brained  women  stowed  away  among  the 
green  hills  in  homes  which  are  glorified  by 
their  presence  —  women,  sound  physically,  men- 
tally, morally,  whom  the  man  of  the  period  has 
never  found;  but  they  are  not  unhappy  in 
consequence.  Things  are  altogether  changed 
from  the  previous  generation.  To-day  the  old 
maid  does  not  wear  herself  out  working  for 
her  brother's  family  or  taking  care  of  her 
sister's  children.  If  she  has  no  money  she 
teaches,  or  lectures,  or  writes  books  or  poems, 
or  she  does  anything  but  hang  on  to  the  coat- 
skirts  of  somebody's  husband,  and  she  feels 
self-respecting  and  self-dependent  in  conse- 
quence. She  is  as  bright  and  happy  as  any 
young  girl,  and  even  better  to  those  who  have 
outgrown  bread  and  butter.  She  has  sense  as 
well  as  freshness,  conversational  power  and  wit 
as  wrell  as  downright  ability  and  good  looks. 
She  has  live  poets  and  notables  and  phi- 


264  SPINSTER   FARM 

losophers  in  her  train.  She  wears  well-fitting 
gowns,  goes  to  concerts  and  suppers  and 
parties  and  lectures  and  matinees,  and  she 
lives  in  a  good  house  earned  by  herself, 
and  gives  other  people  good  times  in  it. 
She  doesn't  care  whether  she  is  married 
or  not;  at  least,  one  would  never  know  if  she 
does.  There  are  many  things  worse  than  being 
an  old  maid  in  this  blessed  beginning  of  the 
twentieth  century." 

11  Really,  Janet,"  said  this  same  friend  a  little 
later,  "  I  think  you  have  succeeded  in  affiliating 
with  your  surroundings  beautifully.  I  often 
come  across  some  one  who  claims  to  have 
'  discovered  '  some  place  in  these  modern  days. 
Because  an  old  town  is  new  to  him,  he  seems 
to  think  that  it  must  of  necessity  be  new  to 
everybody  else,  and  he  speaks  of  it  as  though  it 
had  been  obliterated  from  the  face  of  the  earth 
or  buried  beneath  it,  like  Pompeii  or  Her- 
culaneum,  and  he  had  just  found  the  traces  of 


A   WEDDING  265 

it.  Now  don't  you  think  it  a  trifle  presumptuous 
—  to  put  it  mildly  —  for  an  ambitious  city 
man,  or  woman,  unschooled  in  all  rural  con- 
ditions, to  set  forth,  like  Stanley  for  darkest 
Africa,  to  discover  new  lands,  bring  light  to  the 
natives,  the  majority  of  whom  are  more  en- 
lightened than  their  self-appointed  missionary? 
And  when  this  spot  happens,  as  it  does  in  your 
case  here  at  Elysium,  to  be  a  beautiful  and  widely 
known  locality,  it  strikes  me  that  the  explorer 
is  rather  exploiting  his  own  ignorance.  Before 
one  begins  his  work  of  describing  the  place  to 
which  he  has  journeyed,  either  by  chance  or 
personally  conducted,  it  would  seem  the  sensible 
thing  to  find  out  something  of  the  history  and 
tradition  with  which  it  is  surrounded." 

'  Yes,  indeed,"  answered  the  Spinster, 
"  Elysium  has  been  continually  '  discovered  ' 
ever  since  the  early  colonial  days,  when  high- 
bred dames  from  Boston  town  wended  their 
way  hitherward  in  their  coaches  to  visit  friends 


266  SPINSTER   FARM 

and  relatives  in  the  comfortable,  spacious 
mansions  that  still  dot  the  countryside,  and 
which  in  many  cases  are  the  homes  of  the 
descendants  of  those  who  lived  in  them  in  those 
historic  days.  And  as  for  the  people  of  to-day, 
why,  the  '  discovering '  isn't  all  on  one  side. 
It  doesn't  take  the  people  of  a  community  long 
to  make  up  their  minds  about  the  desirability 
or  the  general  qualities  of  those  who  venture 
among  them,  especially  if  they  come  with  the 
intention  of  casting  their  lot  here  permanently." 

"  And  you  always  expect  to  be  as  happy  and 
contented  as  you  are  now?  "  asked  Euphemia- 
"  To  grow  old  in  this  house  —  to  die  in  Elys- 
ium?" 

"  To  die  in  Elysium,  and  step  from  here  to 
Paradise,"  replied  the  Spinster,  whimsically, 
"  for  Spinster  Farm  is  next  door  to  Heaven." 


EPILOGUE 

BUT  she  didn't.  It  often  happens  that  the 
most  obvious  thing  does  not  happen;  that  the 
plans  we  make  with  most  confidence  are  the 
very  ones  that  do  not  materialize. 

The  Spinster  passed  a  delightful  summer, 
full  of  peace  and  trust  and  healing.  There  were 
the  same  interests  to  fill  her  days,  the  multitude 
of  things  to  do,  the  same  drives  to  be  taken,  the 
singing  of  birds,  the  domestic  animals  for 
companionship,  week-ends  from  her  friends, 
even  the  Professor  at  stated  times,  —  but  no 
Peggy.  And  that  made  all  the  difference. 

Oft,  in  the  long  still  nights,  when  she  lay 
motionless  with  her  thoughts,  her  memory 
reverted  to  girlhood,  as  the  memory  of  a  middle- 
aged  woman  will  when  there  is  not  too  much  of 

267 


268  SPINSTER    FARM 

modern  girlhood  beside  her.  And  she  lived 
over  again  that  happy  time  when  she  was 
nineteen  and  he  —  the  one  she  had  remembered 
so  long  —  was  not  much  more.  Every  word 
that  had  passed  between  them,  while  they  loved 
and  built  such  high,  such  happy  hopes,  was 
lived  over  again.  And  she  still  said  to  herself 
that  if  she  knew  he  was  still  alive  and  wanted 
her,  she  would  go  to  him,  wherever  he  was. 
For  he  had  gone  into  the  far  West  in  those  early 
days,  and  after  a  long-cherished  correspondence 
of  a  year  or  two,  had  disappeared.  And  some 
nights,  she  pictured  to  herself,  his  return,  now 
middle-aged  and  poor,  perhaps  (certainly  he 
had  not  distinguished  himself  or  she  would 
have  heard  of  it ;  and  her  heart  turned  to  him  all 
the  more  if  life  had  meant  failure !),  and  hardly 
daring  to  seek  her  out.  What  if  some  day  he 
should  walk  in  suddenly,  through  the  west 
door?  And  then  her  heart  fluttered  so  that  she 
felt  that  she  could  not  bear  it;  the  sudden 


EPILOGUE  269 

happiness  would  kill  her.  And  she  would 
drop  to  sleep  and  see  him,  tall,  pale, 
spiritual  in  build,  coming  home  to  Massa- 
chusetts. 

"  I  don't  see  what  the  matter  is  with  me," 
she  told  herself  on  waking.  "  I  must  be  getting 
into  my  second  childhood,  —  or  could  it  be 
that  he  really  is  coming  back?  " 

The  thought  stayed  with  her  until  she  began 
to  get  nervous,  and  to  start  at  the  sight  of  a 
strange  man.  He  would  be  gray,  now,  she 
thought;  the  delicate  face  would  be  sharpened 
and  anxious,  but  there  would  be  still  the  old 
tenderness;  she  would  know  him  by  that. 
And  then  she  would  resolutely  put  it  all 
away  from  her,  —  and  go  out  and  feed  the 
hens. 

The  Professor  was  very  busy  with  his  own 
work  that  summer  (and  it  takes  time  and 
nerve-force  to  write  a  scientific  book),  but  he 
found  time  to  come  out  occasionally. 


270  SPINSTER   FARM 

"  You  are  not  well,"  he  said  toward  the  last 
of  summer.  "  You  are  too  lonely  out  here. 
Why  not  go  somewhere?  " 

"  I've  been  thinking  of  it,"  answered  the 
Spinster.  "  Do  you  know  I  haven't  been  away 
since  I  moved  out  ?  Much  as  I  love  the  place, 
I  suppose  it  is  not  good  for  one  to  stay  anywhere 
without  a  change  now  and  then." 

"  Why  not  go  to  Newport?  "  he  asked.  "  A 
complete  change  is  wrhat  you  need.  Try  Bar 
Harbour,  —  or  Peggy's  cottage." 

"  Peggy,  probably,"  answered  she.  And  after 
he  had  gone,  she  sat  down  and  wrote  her  niece, 
proposing  to  spend  a  week  with  her  whenever 
Peggy  should  set  a  date.  Then  she  went  down 
to  the  Summer-house  to  think.  The  Professor's 
last  words  had  been : 

"  Whenever  you  repent  of  this  exile,  I  am 
ready.  You  have  only  to  say  the  word,  you 
know,  and  I  shall  be  only  too  glad  to  walk  with 
you  the  rest  of  life's  journey.  I've  said  it  so 


EPILOGUE  271 

often,  that  I  shall  not  ask  again.  But  a  word 
from  you  will  bring  me." 

Why  not  say  it  ?  Was  she  foolish  to  hold  out 
so  long,  just  for  a  girlish  dream?  Could  she 
not  forget  — 

A  step  on  the  grass  made  her  look  around.  A 
stout  middle-aged  man  stood  waiting,  hat  in 
hand.  She  looked  inquiringly  at  him. 

"Ever  see  me  before?"  he  asked  in  a 
brusque  voice. 

She  looked  at  him  keenly  again.  No.  She 
could  not  recall  that  she  had.  Perhaps  he  was 
thinking  of  some  one  else?  She  had  not  lived 
here  long. 

"  Your  name  is  Janet  Fleming?  Isn't 
it?"  he  said.  "And  you  can't  remember 
me?" 

He  smiled,  and  there  was  a  familiar  look  to 
the  eyes  and  around  the  rather  large  and 
flabby  mouth. 

"  Surely,   this   is   not  — "    she   stammered, 


272  SPINSTER   FARM 

rising.  There  was  not  the  faintest  flutter  at 
her  heart. 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  he  answered,  confidently. 
"  Here  is  my  card." 

She  took  it  and  read :  "  J.  Addison  Litchfield." 

"  I'm  Jim,"  he  announced,  seating  himself 
in  her  big  chair.  "  I  heard  you  were  still  an 
old  maid,  and  thought  I'd  call  around." 

"Where  did  you  come  from?"  she  asked. 
She  tried  in  vain  to  say  she  was  glad  to  see  him. 
She  felt  the  world  tumbling  about  her  ears. 

"  Boston,  this  after,"  he  replied.  "  Arpentua, 
Washington,  last  week,"  he  went  on.  "  Say, 
it's  a  long  time  since  we  said  good-bye.  Why 
haven't  you  ever  married  ?  " 

"  That  isn't  the  main  question  now,"  she 
found  herself  saying.  "  Tell  me  about  yourself." 

"Well,  I  went  first  to  Dakota,  then  to 
Wyoming  and  finally  to  Arpentua,"  he  said 
in  the  tone  of  one  who  has  achieved.  "  I  made 
my  little  pile  in  Wyoming,  and  then  my  wife's 


EPILOGUE  273 

folks  urged  us  to  go  to  Washington.  Great 
country  it  is,  too." 

"You  are  married,  then?"  The  Spinster 
found  herself  saying  it  quite  calmly. 

"  I  was,"  he  answered.  "  She  was  a  good 
woman,  too.  Terrible  saving,  and  even  more 
anxious  to  make  money  than  I.  In  fact,  I  owe 
all  I  have  to  her  economical  habits." 

"  I  am  glad  you  appreciate  her,"  said  the 
Spinster. 

"  I  do,"  answered  J.  Addison  Litchfield. 
"  Or  rather,  I  did.  For  she  died  two  years  ago. 
To  tell  the  truth,  having  money  enough  now  to 
cut  more  of  a  figure  in  the  world,  I  came  East 
in  the  hope  of  finding  her  successor.  Naturally, 
I  remembered  you;  and  when  I  heard  in 
Boston  —  I  heard  it  from  John  Armstead:  I 
see  he's  got  to  be  a  college  professor  and  some- 
thing of  a  big  gun ;  writes  books  and  all  that  — 
well,  as  I  was  saying,  when  I  heard  you  were 
still  unmarried,  why,  I  thought  I'd  come 


274  SPINSTER   FARM 

out  and  see  you.  Say,  you  ain't  changed  a 
bit" 

"  Thank  you,"  murmured  the  Spinster, 
demurely. 

"  Not  a  mite.  Your  hair's  some  grayer,  but 
that's  all,"  he  went  on.  "  Do  you  remember 
how  thick  we  used  to  be?  How  we  wrote  to 
each  other  so  often,  and  all  that?  It  was  only 
when  I  got  acquainted  with  Her  that  I  fell  off 
in  my  letters  to  you.  She  was  a  good  woman,  — 
but  close."  The  man  heaved  a  sigh,  but  whether 
of  regret  or  relief  the  Spinster  could  not  make  up 
her  mind. 

"  Well,  I  am  a  plain  business  man,"  he  was 
going  on.  "  What  I  want  I  mean  to  get ;  and 
when  I  have  a  proposition  to  make  I  out  with 
it.  Say,  why  not  let  bygones  be  bygones,  you 
and  me?  " 

"  I  am  sure  I  cherish  no  resentment,"  said 
the  Spinster,  struggling  to  keep  the  feeling  of 
disgust  out  of  her  tones. 


EPILOGUE  275 

"  Good !  Then  I'll  put  it  plain,"  he  con- 
tinued, reaching  out  a  fat  hand  whereon  flashed 
a  large  diamond.  "  Here  it  is.  Will  you  marry 
me?" 

"  Oh,  no,  Mr.  Litchfield,"  she  answered, 
drawing  away  the  hand  he  had  seized.  "  I 
could  not." 

"  Why  not?  "  he  persisted.  "  I'm  rich.  I'll 
give  you  everything  you  want.  I'll  take  you 
anywhere.  And  I'll  be  kind  to  you.  Jane 
would  tell  you  that.  And  I'm  rich, — rich  as 
mud.  And  I'll  own  it,  —  there  isn't  another 
woman  in  the  world  I'd  rather  have." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  answered,  half 
sadly ;  for  the  destruction  of  her  lifelong  dream 
was  something  of  a  blow.  "  Very  kind  indeed, 
but  I  would  not  care  to  marry  you.  I  am  very 
comfortable  here." 

"Really?"  he  asked  doubtfully.  "You 
really  like  it  here?  " 

"  Indeed,    yes,"    she   answered   with   spirit. 


276  SPINSTER   FARM 

"  It  is  my  home  —  and  I  would  not  change  it 
for  anywhere  you  might  go.  No,  Mr.  Litch- 
field,  there  are  plenty  of  good  women  in  the 
world  who  will  make  better  wives  than  I.  And 
with  your  money  and  good  looks,  you  will  have 
no  difficulty  in  winning  a  wife  that  will  suit 
you  better  than  I  would,  now." 

"  Just  as  good  fish  in  the  sea,"  he  retorted, 
jocularly.  And  having  uttered  this  "  bro- 
midium,"  he  rose  to  go. 

"  No,"  he  responded  to  her  invitation  to 
supper,  "  I'll  go  back  to  Boston  to-night.  My 
time's  limited.  Besides,  when  I've  got  the 
mitten,  I  know  enough  to  go." 

He  smiled  cheerfully  and  was  gone. 

"  And  so  endeth  the  first  lesson,"  muttered 
the  Spinster,  as  she  gazed  after  his  retreating 
form.  Then  she  went  in  and  up  to  her  room. 

Half  an  hour  later,  she  wiped  her  eyes  and 
came  down  to  face  her  reconstructed  world. 


EPILOGUE  277 

And  the  first  thing  she  did  was  to  sit  down  at 
the  parlour  desk  and  write : 

"  DEAR  JOHN  :  —  I've  seen  J.  Addison  Litch- 
field.    You  may  come. 

"J.  F." 

And  the  next  day  he  came. 


THE  END. 


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